MKl 


Ill 


I!!  HlUr;i  mi] 


111 


I!;!!  till! 


• 


HNH 


i^i  iwiliiu!  lilii 


^-Pitcher  Itfbocfiuord 


AUTHOR'S     EDITION 


/? 


JUNE,    1902 


R.  Pitcher  Woodward  at  his  journey's  end. 


ON   A   DONKEY'S 
HURRICANE    DECK 


A  Tempestuous  Voyage  of  Four 
Thousand  and  Ninety-Six  Miles 
Across  the  American  Continent  on 
a  Burro,  in  340  Days  and  2  Hours 


STARTING  WITHOUT  A  DOLLAR  AND 
EARNING  MY  WAY 

BY 

R.    PITCHER   WOODWARD 

(PYTHAGORAS    POD) 
AUTHOR  OF 

"TRAINS  THAT  MET  IN  THE  BLIZZARD" 


Containing  Thirty-nine  Pictures  from 
Photographs  Taken  "en  Voyage"   . 


1902 

I.  H.   BLANCHARD  Co.,   PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1902, 

BY 

R.  PITCHER   WOODWARD 


9$ 

CONTENTS. 

PART  I. 

I.     Madison  Square  to  Yonkers 1 1 

II.     Donkey's  many  ailments 19 

III.  Polishing  shoes  at  Vassar 27 

IV.  An  even  trade  no  robbery 35 

V.     The  donkey  on  skates 42 

VI.    Mac  held  for  ransom 51 

VII.     I  mop  the  hotel  floor 60 

VIII.     Footpads  fire  upon  us 68 

IX.     In  a  haymow  below  zero 74 

X.     An  asinine  snowball 83 

XL     One  bore  is  enough 90 

XII.     At  a  country  dance 98 

XIII.  A  peculiar,  cold  day 105 

XIV.  I  bargain  for  eggs in 

XV.     Gypsy  girl  tells  fortune 116 

XVI.     All  the  devils  are  here 123 

XVII.     Darkest  hour  before  dawn 132 

XVIII.     Champagne  avenue,  Chicago 142 

PART  II. 
BY  PYE  POD  AND  MAC  A'RoNY. 

XIX.     Donk  causes  a  sensation 153 

XX.     A  donkey  for  Alderman 158 

XXI.     A  donkey  without  a  father 169 

XXII.     Rat  trap  and  donkey's  tail 173 

XXIII.  Mac  crosses  the  Mississippi 178 

XXIV.  Pod  hires  a  valet 183 

3 


CONTENTS 

XXV.     Done  by  a  horsetrader . .    190 

XXVI.     Pod  under  arrest 197 

XXVII.     Adventure  in  a  sleeping  bag 208 

XXVII.     Mayor  rides  Mac  A'Rony 213 

XXIX.  Accross  the  Missouri  in  wheelbar- 
row    219 

XXX.     Pod  in  insane  asylum 224 

XXXI.     Narrow  escape  in  quicksand 237 

XXXII.     At  Buffalo  Bill's  ranch 243 

XXXIII.  Fourth  of  July  in  the  desert .  .   250 

XXXIV.  Bitten  by  a  rattler 253 

XXXV.     Havoc  in  a  cyclone 260 

XXXVI.     Two  pretty  dairy  maids 265 

XXXVII.     Donks  climb  Pike's  Peak 273 

XXXVIII.     Sights  in  Cripple  Creek 280 

XXXIX.     Baby  girl  named  for  Pod 287 

XL.     Treed  by  a  silvertip  bear 293 

XLI.  Nearly  drowned  in  the  Rockies ....   304 

XLIL      Donkey  shoots  the  chutes 309 

XLIII.     Paint  sign  with  donk's  tail 319 

XLI V.     Swim  two  rivers  in  Utah 326 

XLV.     Initiated  to  Mormon  faith 339 

XLVI.     Typewriting  on  a  donkey 343 

XLVII.     Pod  kissed  by  sweet  sixteen 348 

XLVIII.     Last  drop  in  the  canteen 352 

XLIX.     How  donkey  pulls  a  tooth 364 

L.  Encounter  with  two  desperadoes.  .   369 

LI.      Donk,  boy  and  dried  apples 380 

LII.     Lost  in  Nevada  desert 385 

LIII.     A  frightful  ghost  dance 393 

LIV.     Across  Sierras  in  deep  snow 400 

LV.     All  down  a  toboggan  slide 409 

LVI.     'Frisco  at  last,  we  win! 415 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

(Portrait)  The  traveler  at  the  journey's  end. 
"I  bade  my  friends  farewell." 
"We  consumed  a  half  hour  in  the  gigantic  task." 
"I  found  the  captive  drinking  with  other  jackasses." 
"We  tramped  tired  and  footsore  into  the  village." 
"Mac  could  draw  my  luggage  instead  of  carrying  it." 
"Mac's  little  legs  would  get  stuck." 
"Mac  supervised  the  work." 
"The  only  time  I  got  ahead  of  him." 
"I  scrutinized  his  hat  inquisitively." 
"He  accused  me  of  attempting  suicide." 
"We  made  slow  headway  to  the  Mississippi. 
"In  this  way  I  crossed  that  bridge  of  size." 
"And  I  saw  the  streak  of  daylight." 
"Mac  was  so  slow  that  his  shadow  beat  him  to  town." 
"Over  the  Platte  bridge,  after  blindfolding  them." 
"I  killed  my  first  rattlesnake." 
"That  was  the  town  of  Korty." 
"Climbing  Pike's  Peak." 
"He  had  caught  a  nice  mess  of  trout." 
"Trail  through  the  timber." 

"Independence  Pass;  one  of  the  loftiest  of  the  Conti- 
nental Divide." 
"Trail  to  Florisant." 

5 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Two  days  of  hard  climbing  to  cross  Western  Pass." 

'Through  thickets,  tangled  roots  and  fallen  trees." 

"To  swim  and  float  on  Salt  Lake." 

"Skull  Valley  desert,  we  stopped  to  feed  and  rest." 

"The  last  and  only  drop." 

"Just  finished  lunch  when  the  posse  arrived." 

"Coonskin  and  I  took  shelter  behind  our  donkeys." 

"Through  Devil's  Gate,  their  panniers  scraped  the  walls 

of  the  rocky  gateway." 
"Fired  their  revolvers  in  the  air." 
"Some  Piute  Indians  who  had  camped  close  by." 
"Playing  Solitaire  on  Damfino's  broad  back." 
"Began  to  plow  snow  toward  Placerville. 
"The  cattle  passed  us,  after  we  donks  had  broken  the 

trail." 

"Across  on  the  exclusive  Solano." 
"I  pointed  toward  the  goal." 
"The  ferry  approach  in  'Frisco  was  choked  with  a 

rabble." 


PROLOGUE. 

This  is  as  true  a  story  of  my  "voyage"  as  I  am  capable  of 
writing.  Besides  the  newspaper  accounts,  two  magazine  articles, 
illustrated  on  this  subject  have  been  published,  the  only  ones 
contributed  by  me,  and  they  hardly  outlined  the  trip.  I  have  left 
out  a  hundred  interesting  incidents  and  culled  and  edited  until 
I  am  tired,  in  order  to  condense  this  volume  to  convenient  size. 
On  the  other  hand,  notable  adventures  only  recalled  by  my 
photographs  have  been  cheated  of  a  mention,  because  the  donkey 
ate  my  notes— he  ate  everything  in  sight,  and  did  not  discrimin- 
ate between  a  comic  circus  poster  and  a  tragic  diary. 

Ever  since  completing  the  trip,  I  have  promised  this  book 
"next  month,"  but  owing  to  the  checkered  career  of  the  MS. 
with  ninety-seven  publishers  (all  of  whom  declared  that  the 
book  should  be  brought  out  at  once,  but  they  lacked  the  nerve  to 
publish  it),  I  am  only  now  able  to  fulfil  my  promises.  This  is 
no  romance.  When  I  did  not  walk  with  the  donkey  or  carry 
him,  he  carried  me  the  whole  four  thousand  and  ninety-six  miles, 
which  includes  the  distance  traveled  when  he  balked  and  backed. 

With  my  two  cameras  I  secured  six  hundred  pictures  descrip- 
tive of  the  journey  across  eleven  states,  through  the  four  sea- 
sons, during  that  long,  long  year;  only  by  them  and  my  diary 
am  I  brought  to  realize  it  is  not  a  wild,  weird  dream.  Now  it  is 
over,  I  sometimes  smile  over  things  recalled  which,  when  they 
happened,  found  me  as  serious  as  the  donk — grave  in  the  superla- 
tive degree — and  thoughtless  people  and  those  who  never  even 
crossed  the  plains  by  train  may  style  my  experience  a  mere 
outing  or  "picnic."  General  Fremont  and  other  distinguished 
pioneers  emphasize  in  their  writings  the  pleasures  of  their  over- 
land trips.  They,  as  did  the  emigrants  of  the  '405  and  '505,  set 
out  in  spring  time  from  the  Missouri  or  the  Mississippi  in  com- 
panies, with  money,  wagons,  cattle  and  supplies,  and  with  one- 
third  of  the  continent  already  behind  them.  The  Indians  and  big 


PROLOGUE 

game  of  the  prairies  provided  excitement  that  lent  a  charm  to  the 
undertaking;  it  is  dull  monotony  that  kills. 

I  started  four  days  before  winter,  practically  without  money,  to 
support,  from  earnings  only,  myself  and  dumb  partner  from  New 
York  city  to  San  Francisco. 

It  required  twelve  weeks  to  traverse  the  Empire  State,  through 
a  severe  season  when  and  where  I  suffered  the  most.  The  de- 
lightful part  of  the  journey  was  while  crossing  the  Rockies.  In- 
stead of  taking  the  shortest  cut,  I  had  to  consider  the  towns  where 
I  might  best  make  expenses,  to  look  for  the  best  roads  and  desert 
trails  by  springs.  Three  times  when  lost  I  traveled  far  out  of 
my  course,  once  twenty  miles  into  a  mountain  forest. 

It  is  only  five  days  across  by  rail.  Have  you  traveled  it — in 
summer?  How  monotonous  grew  those  seas  of  alkali,  sand  (rock 
waste),  cacti  and  sage  as  the  hours  lengthened  into  days!  Yet 
with  comfortable  beds,  shade,  meals  served,  cool  drinks,  and  books 
to  read,  at  times  feeling  yourself  speeding  through  the  air  a  mile 
to  the  minute,  you  wearied  of  the  "voyage."  Five  days !  Multi- 
ply them  into  weeks,  then  into  months,  double  and  add  five  weeks 
— forty-nine  weeks !  Fancy  yourself  for  such  a  period  on  a  slow 
burro  which  walks  half  your  natural  pace,  and  so  small  that  if 
you  wear  roller  skates  while  in  the  saddle  you  may  ease  the  ani- 
mal ;  ride  one  mile  astride ;  when  you  feel  about  to  split,  ride  the 
second  mile  side-ways ;  when  your  back  feels  ready  to  break,  ride 
the  third  mile  Turkish  fashion;  by  this  time  your  legs  are  be- 
numbed and  your  feet  asleep,  so  walk  a  mile  and  carry  the  jack- 
ass; you  will  thereby  quiet  your  nerves,  rest  your  bones,  and 
make  better  time. 

If  ever  you  are  tempted  to  ride  a  donkey  overland,  refrain. 
Rather  creep  across  backwards  on  your  hands  and  knees,  or  cir- 
cumnavigate the  globe  in  a  washtub.  If  you  still  persist,  why, 
ride  a  donkey  twenty  miles  in  a  pouring  rain,  then  follow  your 
own  judgment.  If  you  wish  my  donkey's  advice,  I  will  introduce 
him.  His  head  is  longer  than  his  ears,  which  was  not  the  case 
when  he  set  out  with  me.  R.  P.  W. 


'/  bade  my  friends  farewell. 


PART  1. 


On  a  Donkey's  Hurricane  Deck 


CHAPTER  I. 

By  this  hand,  thou  think'st  me  as  far 
in  the  devil's  book  as  thou  and  Falstaff, 
for  obduracy  and  persistency.  Let  the 

end  try  the  man. 

— Shakespeare. 

A  noisy,  curious,  gaping  multitude  was  crowded  about 
the  Bartholdi  Hotel,  New  York.  It  was  just  after  the 
noon  hour  on  Friday,  November  27,  1896,  the  day  on 
which  I  was  to  start  on  my  long  and  memorable  journey 
across  the  continent  on  a  donkey.  The  corridors  were 
filled  with  interested  guests,  the  reception  room  held  about 
a  hundred  of  my  friends  who  had  come  to  bid  me  God- 
speed, and  less  than  a  hundred  thousand  people  choked 
Madison  Square  and  the  streets  leading  into  it. 

I  had  agreed  with  a  friend  to  forfeit  to  him  five 
thousand  dollars,  in  case  I  should  fail  to  make  a  donkey 
trip  from  New  York  to  San  Francisco  in  three  hundred 
and  forty-one  days,  under  the  following  conditions : 

Start  from  New  York  City,  without  a  dollar  in  pocket 
and  without  begging,  borrowing,  or  stealing,  procure  a 
donkey,  and,  riding  or  leading  the  beast,  earn  my  way 
across  the  continent  to  San  Francisco,  and  register  at  its 
leading  hotel  within  the  schedule  time.  I  must  cover  the 
whole  distance  with  a  donkey  by  road  or  trail  only;  an- 
nounce in  a  prominent  newspaper  of  New  York  my  start, 
at  least  twenty-four  hours  in  advance,  and  mention  the 
hour,  day,  and  starting  point.  Seated  on  a  donkey,  I  must 
parade  on  portions  of  Broadway,  Fourteenth  and  Twenty- 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

third  Streets,  Fifth,  Madison,  and  West  End  Avenues; 
both  the  donkey  and  I  must  wear  spectacles,  and  I  a  frock- 
coat  and  ''plug"  hat,  but,  the  latter  to  be  discarded  at 
pleasure  when  once  across  the  Mississippi  River,  the  coat 
to  be  worn  to  San  Francisco. 

I  slyly  suggested  the  two  most  absurd  conditions,  be- 
lieving it  would  be  easier  to  earn  my  way  in  the  role  of  a 
comedian  than  in  the  garb  of  a  serious-thinking,  imposed- 
upon  mortal.  I  reasoned  that  I  should  have  to  live  on 
sensation  and  notoriety,  and,  perhaps,  keep  from  starving 
by  employing  my  wits.  These  reflections  I  kept  to  myself. 
My  "friend"  chuckled  amusedly,  doubtless  picturing  in 
his  mind  the  circus  I  was  about  to  provide. 

Without  delay  I  began  the  preparations  for  the  asinine 
journey.  After  much  troublesome  searching,  I  managed 
with  the  help  of  Hennessy,  a  stable-keeper,  and  Dr. 
Moore,  a  veterinary  surgeon,  to  secure  an  option  on  a 
small  donkey  at  James  Flanagan's  sale  stables.  Macaroni 
was  the  animal's  name,  and  the  price  to  be  paid  was  $25. 
Then  I  got  our  coachman  to  go  among  his  friends  to  see 
if  he  could  get  hold  of  a  coat — a  Prince  Albert — and 
stove-pipe  hat.  He  succeeded  admirably,  and  when  I  had 
ordered  spectacles  for  myself  and  the  donkey,  I  was  ready 
for  the  trip.  I  reached  the  hotel  on  the  appointed  day  at 
one  o'clock,  borrowed  the  donkey  for  my  official  start,  sent 
him  back  to  the  stables,  then  went  to  the  Reception  Room. 
Among  my  friends  awaiting  were  my  "friend,"  the  land- 
lord of  the  hotel,  a  photographer  who  had  taken  a  picture 
of  me  seated  on  the  donkey  a  few  days  before,  and  had 
come  to  deliver  the  photos ;  and  my  attorney,  for  the  Chief 
of  Police  had  refused  me  a  permit  to  parade  on  the  streets, 
and  threatened  my  arrest  if  I  proved  to  be  a  public  nui- 
sance. I  borrowed  a  pen  and  bottle  of  ink,  and,  after 
bowing  a  greeting  to  my  friends  assembled,  set  to  work 


MADISON  SQUARE  TO  YONKERS 

putting  my  autograph  on  the  pictures,  which  I  offered  for 
sale  at  twenty-five  cents. 

Bless  my  suspenders,  and  how  they  went !  I  made  up 
my  mind  that  we  "two  donkeys"  would  many  times  have 
greater  difficulty  in  obtaining  quarters  before  I  reached 
my  destination.  For  an  hour  the  fist  of  Pye  Pod  swung 
a  powerful  quill  and  inscribed  on  each  photograph  a  name 
that  would  go  into  his-story.  Silver  jingled  on  the  table ; 
the  anxious  hands  of  the  crowding  patrons  got  mixed  in 
the  shuffle,  and  some  got  two  pictures  and  others  got 
none;  the  ink  flew  about  recklessly,  and  there  were  no 
blotters  at  hand ;  my  heart  thumped,  and  I  was  so  excited 
that  I  kissed  by  mistake  an  indignant  girl  friend  in  place 
of  my  sister;  and  finally  stole  my  sister's  lace  handker- 
chief, instead  of  that  of  a  sweetheart,  but  which,  however, 
I  failed  to  discover  till  six  months  afterward ;  and  still  I 
lacked  the  requisite  sum. 

I  now  had  twenty-four  dollars,  but  I  needed  at  least 
forty-one.  Although  I  had  made  a  five-dollar  payment  to 
Flanagan,  that  money  came  from  my  private  purse  and 
must  be  redeemed  and  returned;  besides,  I  must  pay  $12 
to  the  photographer  for  the  200  photos  delivered  to  me, 
and  $4  more  to  the  blacksmith's  representative  for  shoeing 
the  donkey. 

"I  will  lend  you  all  the  money  you  want,"  said  the 
president  of  one  of  my  clubs ;  and  my  "friend's"  ears  and 
eyes  were  directed  upon  me. 

"I  cannot  beg,  borrow,  or  accept  gratuities,"  I  ex- 
claimed, firmly;  "I  propose  to  fulfill  the  terms  of  my 
wager  to  the  letter,  and  when  I  accomplish  it,  be  able  to 
make  a  sworn  statement  to  that  effect." 

Just  then  I  heard  a  newsboy  calling,  "EXTRA— ALL 
ABOUT  THE  GREAT  DONKEY  RIDE." 

At  once  I  dispatched  a  friend  with  money  to  purchase 

13 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

the  papers,  while  I  followed  him  to  the  hotel  exit,  where 
I  stationed  myself  in  full  view  of  the  crowd  and  drew 
from  my  pocket  a  blue  lead  pencil,  ready  for  a  new  task. 
The  papers  secured  and  brought  to  me,  I  scribbled  my 
name  on  them  and  offered  them  for  a  dime  apiece. 

"I  have  no  time  to  make  change,  so  give  me  the  amount 
you  wish  to  pay,"  I  said  to  the  eager  purchasers.  In  fif- 
teen minutes  I  had  enough  dimes  and  quarters  and  fifty- 
cent  pieces  to  enable  me  to  square  my  accounts  and  send 
for  my  donkey. 

In  the  course  of  a  half  hour,  Macaroni  was  induced  by 
sundry  persuasions  to  invade  the  noisy  precinct  of  Madi- 
son Square  and  come  up  to  the  hotel  door;  and,  with  a 
small  surplus  of  cash  in  pocket,  I  bade  my  friends  fare- 
well and  got  into  the  saddle. 

Amid  a  deafening  "tiger"  from  the  multitude,  the 
"lion"  of  the  hour  majestically  proceeded  down  Broad- 
way to  Fourteenth  Street ;  and  the  most  sensational  parade 
New  York  had  ever  witnessed  had  begun. 

My  lazy  steed  barely  crawled ;  he  stopped  every  rod  or 
two,  and  generally  in  front  of  a  car  or  other  vehicle.  It 
was  an  event  for  the  street  gamins,  and,  had  they  not 
trailed  close  behind  us  through  the  city  and  given  Mac 
occasional  goads  and  twists  of  the  tail,  I  doubt  if  I  could 
have  reached  Harlem  by  midnight.  It  was  a  terrible  ride, 
and  I  often  have  wondered  since  how  I  escaped  with  my 
neck. 

Passing  down  Fourteenth  Street,  we  turned  up  Fifth 
Avenue,  crossed  Madison  Square,  paraded  Madison  Ave- 
nue to  Thirty-third  Street,  turned  to  the  left  over  to  Fifth 
Avenue  and  passed  the  Waldorf-Astoria,  followed  Forty- 
second  Street  to  the  Boulevard,  and  up  the  avenue  to 
Seventy-second  Street,  and  then  up  West  End  Avenue, 
past  my  "friend's"  residence.  There  I  was  stopped  by  a 

14 


MADISON   SQUARE   TO   YONKERS 

member  of  the  mounted  police,  and,  to  my  surprise,  was 
tendered  a  Loving-cup  Reception  by  my  "friend's"  pretty 
daughter,  who,  with  a  number  of  our  mutual  friends,  wel- 
comed me  while  her  father  was  at  his  office  expecting  a 
telegram  that  Pye  Pod  had  given  up  his  trip. 

All  drank  to  the  pilgrim's  progress.  Wines,  flowers 
and  ice  cream,  tears,  and  best  wishes,  all  contributed  to  the 
happy  function,  while  out  of  doors,  an  incident  happened 
that  caused  me  to  rush  to  my  donkey's  side.  It  seems  that, 
in  looking  through  his  green  glasses,  he  mistook  the  iron 
picket  screen  that  guarded  a  young  and  hopeful  shade  tree 
for  some  kind  of  verdant  fodder,  and  destroyed  a  couple 
of  teeth.  The  incident  threw  a  damper  on  the  reception, 
so  I  made  my  adieux,  and  resumed  my  fated  journey  with 
a  heart  still  hopeful,  yet  heavier  than  it  ever  felt  before. 

It  was  7  P.  M.  when  Mac  and  I  stopped  at  the  Minot 
Hotel,  Harlem,  and  registered  for  the  night.  Among  my 
several  callers  that  evening  was  a  Professor  of  a  Riding 
Academy  who  claimed  to  have  ridden  horseback  from 
ocean  to  ocean  a  few  years  previous  and  within  several 
feet  of  his  death  after  losing  several  horses ;  and  he  de- 
scribed to  me  the  perils  of  my  prospective  trip,  the  bound- 
less, waterless  deserts  and  snow-covered  mountains,  the 
tornadoes  and  tarantulas,  and  the  untamed  Indians,  and 
ferocious  prairie  dogs,  and  begged  me  to  give  up  the 
journey.  Dear  old  Professor,  how  often  on  that  voyage 
on  the  hurricane  deck  of  my  donkey,  did  I  indulge  in 
grievous  meditation  on  the  wisdom  of  your  advice ! 

I  simply  thanked  the  gentleman  for  his  tender  concern 
about  my  welfare,  and  sold  him  a  chromo  for  a  quarter. 

After  a  bath,  I  enjoyed  a  delicate  sleep,  and  next  day 
set  out  in  a  dripping  rain  for  Yonkers,  over  twenty  miles 
away,  with  less  than  a  dollar  in  pocket.  I  had  only  sold 
enough  pictures  on  the  way  to  Harlem  to  defray  my  hotel 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

bill,  as  a  stringent  city  ordinance  prohibited  it  without  a 
license,  and  I  had  difficulty  in  avoiding  the  vigilant  police. 

But,  although  fortune  and  the  weather  frowned  on  me, 
I  ground  my  teeth  and  headed  for  the  Golden  Gate. 

Trailing  up  Seventh  Avenue,  I  gradually  left  the  busy 
metropolis  to  my  rear  and  entered  a  more  open  country. 
Some  urchins  of  the  suburbs  tagged  behind  us  meddle- 
somely,  and  finally  a  Dutch  vixen  hit  Macaroni  with  a  po- 
tato, almost  causing  me  to  leave  the  saddle.  That  para- 
dox of  asininity  chased  the  potato,  and  ate  it.  He,  doubt- 
lessly, feared  lest  the  missile  might  strike  him  again,  and 
decided  it  best  to  put  it  out  of  the  way. 

At  2  P.  M.  I  had  crossed  McComb's  Dam  Bridge,  and 
at  five  I  crossed  another  of  the  same  description.  It  was 
low  and  narrow,  and  Mac  was  so  afraid  of  the  water  that 
I  had  to  blindfold  him  to  get  him  across.  Shortly  after 
occurred  our  first  disaster. 

On  nearing  a  little  hamlet  that  had  reached  the  horse- 
car  stage  of  progress  a  counterfeit  breeze  sprang  up  which 
soon  developed  into  a  howling  hurricane,  as  a  huge  beer 
wagon  filled  with  dragons,  or  flagons  of  vile  spirits 
wheeled  down  upon  us.  They  wanted  to  scare  the  jack- 
ass, and  they  did.  The  wagon  wheels  got  into  the  car 
tracks,  and  when  the  wagon  turned  out  for  us  the  wheels 
slid,  and  hit  my  partner  in  the  vicinity  of  his  tail,  sprinkling 
us  broadcast  over  a  quarter  acre  of  ground.  I  carried  out 
a  friend's  prediction  by  traveling  some  distance  on  my 
face;  I  say  this  without  vanity.  When  I  sat  upright,  I 
saw  Macaroni  still  turning  headsprings.  My  repeating 
rifle  stuck  in  the  soft  earth  erect,  dressed  in  my  long-tail 
coat  and  plug  hat,  a  veritable  scarecrow,  while  the  soil 
was  well  sown  with  rifle  cartridges. 

It  took  us  a  half  hour  to  get  again  under  way.  With  a 

16 


MADISON    SQUARE   TO    YONKERS 

degree  of  patience  that  would  have  overtaxed  Job  him- 
self, I  collected  my  belongings,  dragged  my  beast  of  bur- 
den to  Yonkers,  and  anchored  him  in  front  of  a  hotel.  It 
was  only  eight ;  I  had  thought  it  nearly  morning. 

The  genial  landlord  received  me  kindly,  but  said  I  had 
arrived  at  a  bad  season.  The  town  was  financially  dead, 
the  factories  had  shut  down,  and  a  thousand  stomachs 
were  empty.  I  corrected  him ;  there  were  a  thousand  and 
one,  and,  ascertaining  the  shortest  route  to  the  dining- 
room,  I  gave  him  proof  that  I  was  right. 

After  supper  I  felt  in  good  spirits.  I  had  sold  sufficient 
chromos  on  the  way  from  Harlem  to  land  here  with  five 
dollars  in  pocket,  and  soon  after  my  arrival,  one  man 
bought  all  the  pictures  I  had  left,  seven  of  them,  for  which 
he  paid  two  dollars.  So,  although  weary  in  body,  I  re- 
tired that  Saturday  night  with  some  sense  of  relief  in 
knowing  I  possessed  the  funds  to  keep  myself  and  part- 
ner over  the  Sabbath. 

A  general  inspection  of  my  donkey  next  morning  re- 
vealed the  fact  that  he  was  badly  "stove  up,"  and  the 
probability  that  I  would  be  detained  in  consequence  sev- 
eral days.  If  I  ever  had  the  blues,  I  had  them  then.  A 
veterinary,  Dr.  Skitt,  was  summoned;  he  bandaged  two 
legs,  covered  twenty  square  inches  of  donkey  with  court- 
plaster,  and  strapped  a  new  boot  on  the  animal's  off  fore 
leg.  On  returning  to  the  hotel,  I  notified  the  landlord  that 
I  should  be  his  guest  very  likely  several  days  on  account  of 
my  steed's  crippled  condition ;  I  said  I  proposed  to  give 
a  lecture  Tuesday  evening  to  defray  my  extra  expense, 
and  asked  him  if  I  could  have  the  dining  room  for  the 
purpose. 

"Can  you  fill  the  hall  ?"  asked  the  proprietor. 

"Full  as  a  kit  of  mackerel." 

17 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

"But  I  have  only  a  hundred  chairs,"  he  apologized. 

"Hire  two  hundred  of  an  undertaker,"  I  suggested, 
"and  I  will  defray  all  other  expenses  of  the  funeral." 

It  was  a  go.  I  then  worded  a  handbill  and  hurried  with 
it  to  a  printer. 


18 


CHAPTER  II. 

I  sow  all  sorts  of  seeds,  and  get  no  great 
harvest  from  any  of  them.  I'm  cursed  with 
susceptibility  in  every  direction,  and  effective 
faculty  in  none. 

—Mill  on  the  Floss. 

A  shower  of  paper  flakes  fell  upon  the  amazed  citizens 
of  Yonkers  like  an  unseasonable  snow-storm,  and  every 
flake  contained  the  announcement : 

TO-NIGHT!  TO-NIGHT!  TO-NIGHT! 

G-          HOUSE  DINING-HALL 

Only  chance  to  hear 

The    Greatest    of    Modern    Travelers 
PYTHAGORAS    POD 

Who  left  New  York  without  a  dollar,  to  eat  his  way   to  San 
Francisco,  within  one  year, 

WILL  RELATE  100  HAIR-BREADTH  ESCAPES 

Lassoing  elephants  in  India  ;  hunting  chamois  with  sling-shots 
in  the  Alps ;  perils  of  an  ostrich  ride  through  the  great  African 


great 

jaroo  nop  across  Australia — in/' 
HOP  ON  RECOJ 


desert;  and  a  kangaroo  hop  across  Australia— THE    BIGGEST 
~ORD. 


Gleanings  from  the  Press. 

"His  stories  will  make  a  hyena  laugh." — New  York  Bombast. 

"  Pye  Pod  is  nothing  more  than  a  cake  of  sugar  boiled  down  from  the  syrup  of 
Lawrence  Stearne,  Dean  Swift,  Cervantes,  Artemus  Ward,  and  Josh  Billings.— 
Chicago  Tornado.  

EVERY  MAN  AND  WOMAN 

who  has  Thirty  cents  to  throw  away,  should  put  one  in  a  Yonkers 
Bank  and  Twenty-nine  in  the  pocket  of  the  donkey  traveler. 

TICKETS,  $0.29.      TICKETS,  TWENTY-NINE  CENTS 

YONKBRS  APPEAL  POWER  PRINT 
19 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

Even  Macaroni  lent  a  hoof,  and  was  led  by  a  boy  through 
the  streets,  bearing  a  pasteboard  sandwich  which  reached 
from  ears  to  tail.  The  residents  of  Mistletoe  Avenue 
gazed  at  the  ridiculous  spectacle,  indignantly  at  first ;  but 
on  the  return  trip  they  crowded  in  open  door-ways  and 
regarded  the  procession  of  beast  and  tagging  boys,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "We  must  go  and  hear  the  donkey  lec- 
ture." 

Macaroni  had  quite  recovered;  his  exercise  did  him 
good.  My  lecture  promised  to  be  a  huge  success.  The 
Tuesday  Morning  Squib  and  the  Evening  Sunrise  con- 
tained alluring  advertisements  of  the  event  sure  to  punc- 
ture an  epoch  in  my  life. 

When  the  hour  arrived,  the  populace,  I  was  secretly 
informed,  with  twenty-nine  cents  in  one  hand  and  their 
lives  in  the  other  crowded  about  the  hotel  and  called 
loudly  for  admittance. 

My  hands  trembled,  my  hair  throbbed,  and  my  heart 
leaped  in  the  ecstacy  that  comes  with  one's  first  great  tri- 
umph, while  I  stood  in  the  butler's  pantry  waiting  for  a 
friend  to  introduce  me — to  bid  me  enter  the  stage — the 
first  stage  of  lunacy.  When  I  issued  forth,  I  was  so  ex- 
cited I  could  not  distinguish  the  audience  from  so  many 
chairs.  Having  agreed  to  divide  the  receipts  with  my  host 
for  the  use  of  his  house,  my  visions  of  wealth  got  con- 
fused with  my  words,  and  I  talked  for  an  hour  with  all 
the  eloquence  and  enthusiasm  I  could  muster, — though  I 
should  have  said  less  to  a  smaller  house, — and  with  a  sore 
throat  retired  to  the  refreshment  room,  followed  by  my 
press  agent  from  Brooklyn.  The  "Doctor"  handed  me 
just  twenty-nine  cents.  My  audience  had  consisted  of 
three  persons :  the  landlord,  the  head-waiter,  and  the  Dago 
printer  whom  I  owed  three  dollars. 

Reverses  are  like  children's  diseases.    If  they  come  too 

20 


DONKEY'S  MANY  AILMENTS. 

late  in  life,  they  go  hard  with  us ;  and  if  too  early,  they 
may  visit  us  again. 

I  was  not  totally  bankrupt.  Not  willing  to  begin  a 
"three  ball"  business  at  the  very  outset,  I  resolved  to  rise 
at  dawn  and  sell  enough  chromos  to  that  unappreciative 
community  to  pay  my  bills,  if  I  had  to  sell  them  at  cost.  I 
set  to  work.  By  one  o'clock  I  had  visited  every  shop,  store 
and  Chinese  laundry,  and  was  talking  hoarsely  to  a  corner 
grocer  who,  seated  on  a  keg  of  mackerel,  sampling  lim- 
burger  cheese,  grinned  with  satisfaction  at  his  fortified  po- 
sition and  swore  like  a  skipper.  I  offered  a  picture  for 
fifteen  cents,  but  the  reduction  in  price  did  not  disturb  his 
physical  equilibrium. 

"I  vant  not  a  peakture  at  any  price,"  he  affirmed. 

"I  lack  fifteen  cents  of  the  amount  of  my  hotel  bill,"  I 
urged ;  "I  am  in  dire  straits." 

His  reply  was  weak,  but  the  cheese  was  strong  enough 
to  help  him  out.  My  mental  magazine  had  but  a  single 
charge  left,  and  I  fired  it.  "Isn't  it  worth  fifteen  cents  to 
know  a  fool  when  you  see  one  ?" 

"Ye-e-es,  I  dink  it  ess,"  answered  Sweitzer  Edam,  "and 
eef  you  vill  write  it  on  the  peakture  I'll  buy  it."  I  made  the 
sale. 

Then  after  calling  on  the  Mayor,  who  received  me  cor- 
dially, swapped  autographs,  and  asked  to  see  my  partner, 
I  saddled  my  animal  and  led  him  to  the  hotel  for  my 
traps. 

"You  aren't  going  before  dinner?"  the  proprietor  asked; 
"it's  ready  now." 

"I'm  flat  broke — can't  afford  to  eat,"  I  returned  sadly. 

"Then  come  in  and  have  a  meal  on  me,"  said  he.  "A 
man  who  has  worked  as  you  have  to  square  with  his  land- 
lord shan't  leave  my  hotel  hungry."  I  yielded. 

My  trip  to  Tarrytown  was  accomplished  on  my  own 

21 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

legs.  Macaroni  refused  to  budge  unless  somebody  led  him. 
The  whole  town  turned  out  to  see  us ;  it  was  an  event 
for  the  hotel.  That  evening  I  was  asked  to  McCarty's 
Show,  at  the  Theatre,  paying  thirty-five  cents  admission ;  I 
learned  that  the  "Dutch  treat"  was  in  vogue  when  too  late 
for  my  pride  to  let  me  decline  the  invitation.  Next  day, 
at  noon,  I  set  out  for  Sing  Sing,  now  called  Ossining, 
about  seven  miles  away. 

My  steed,  that  was  really  not  half  a  steed,  seemed  to 
be  gradually  recovering  from  the  doubt  that  an  endless 
journey  had  been  mapped  out  for  him,  and  kept  me  watch- 
ing and  prodding  him  constantly.  On  one  occasion  he 
drove  through  a  gap  in  a  fence;  on  another,  he  scraped 
through  a  hedge  and  relieved  himself  of  my  Winchester, 
coat  and  saddle-bags,  for  which  he  immediately  expressed 
regret.  At  length,  he  balked ;  and  I  sat  down  by  the  road- 
side a  half  hour  before  he  showed  readiness  to  go. 

While  there  meditating  upon  my  trials,  a  pedestrian 
stopped  and  listened  to  my  sixteen  complaints.  He 
seemed  much  amused,  and  suggested  that  if  I  would  hang 
a  penny  before  the  donkey's  nose  he  might  follow  the 
cent.  A  practical  idea  at  once  came  to  mind,  and  when, 
soon  afterward,  we  reached  a  farm  house,  I  put  my  idea 
to  the  test.  I  purchased  some  apples,  and  suspended  one 
from  a  bough  secured  to  the  saddle  and  reaching  over  the 
donkey's  head.  The  scheme  worked  admirably.  Mac 
pursued  the  bobbing,  swinging  fruit  at  such  a  speed  that 
he  was  nearly  winded  when  we  reached  town,  having 
manipulated  his  short  legs  to  the  velocity  of  two  and  one- 
third  miles  an  hour. 

We  reached  town  shortly  after  five.  The  village  is 
nicely  situated  high  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  and  some 
of  its  residents  have  a  beautiful  view  of  the  river,  while 
others  see  nothing  more  picturesque  than  a  stone  wall. 

22 


DONKEY'S  MANY  AILMENTS. 

Sing  Sing,  to  use  the  more  familiar  name,  is  the  seat  of  an 
extensive  prison,  patronized  by  sojourners  from  all  parts 
of  the  world  and  heavily  endowed,  being  backed  by  the 
wealth  of  the  State. 

A  local  organization,  the  Sing  Sing  Steamer  Company, 
invited  me  to  its  monthly  dinner  that  evening,  and,  to  my 
surprise  and  gratitude,  purchased  with  a  sealed  envelope 
one  of  "our"  pictures  for  the  club  rooms.  I  don't  think  it 
a  good  custom  to  buy  a  pig  in  a  poke,  but  this  time  the  pig 
was  fat  and  healthy,  and  I  found  myself  several  dollars 
richer. 

Next  morning  I  bought  a  revolver,  for,  as  I  had  to  em- 
ploy the  larger  part  of  the  day  in  making  sales  and  work- 
ing my  wits  in  a  multitude  of  ways  to  keep  my  ship  from 
stranding  and  the  crew  from  starving,  I  was  often 
compelled  to  travel  long  into  the  night  and  required 
some  more  handy  weapon  than  a  rifle  for  defence  against 
pirates. 

The  newspapers  generally  heralded  my  coming,  often 
greatly  magnifying  my  successes,  and  I  felt  that  the  hard 
times,  which  the  country  at  large  was  suffering,  made 
such  a  thing  as  a  hold-up  not  only  possible  but  imminent 
any  night. 

Having  received  an  invitation  to  visit  the  State  Prison, 
I  set  out  in  the  forenoon  to  find  it,  and  a  policeman  (a 
very  proper  person,  by  the  way),  guided  me  to  that  fa- 
mous hostelry.  Macaroni  also  was  invited,  but  the  af- 
frighted animal  declined  to  enter  the  prison  gates. 
Whether  he  thought  he  saw  a  drove  of  zebras,  or  was  re- 
pelled by  a  guilty  conscience,  I  know  not,  but,  falling  back 
in  a  sitting  posture,  he  threw  his  ears  forward  and  brayed 
loudly. 

On  entering  the  office,  the  secretary  rose  from  his  chair 
and  seized  me.  "Professor,"  he  said,  "you  are  my  pris- 

23 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

oner  for  an  hour.;  come  this  way  and  I  will  present  you  to 
the  warden." 

We  left  the  room  and  walked  over  to  that  official's  desk. 

"Mr.  Warden,"  said  the  secretary,  "Allow  me  to  intro- 
duce Professor  Pythagoras  Pod,  the  illustrious  donkey- 
traveler,  who  is  eating  his  way  across  the  continent." 

"Show  the  gentleman  to  the  dining-room,  and  give  him 
a  plate  of  soup,"  said  the  warden  hospitably ;  then,  squeez- 
ing my  ringers,  he  waived  me  to  the  chief  keeper  of  the 
prison.  The  warden  noted  my  hesitancy  in  leaving,  and 
asked  if  there  was  anything  in  particular  he  could  do  for 
me. 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  sit  in  the  electric  chair?"  I 
asked. 

"Ye-e-es,"  he  replied  politely,  but  apparently  startled, 
"although  I  consider  you  are  already  having  capital  pun- 
ishment for  your  asinine  undertaking;"  and  turning  to 
the  keeper,  he  said,  "Give  him  fifty  thousand  volts ;  noth- 
ing less  will  phase  a  man  of  his  nerve."  I  thanked  him. 

With  faltering  step  I  entered  the  solemncholy  chamber. 
A  colored  prisoner  was  to  follow  me  a  day  later.  Little 
he  knew  that  he  would  sit  in  the  same  chair  Pod  sat  in 
the  previous  day.  The  keeper  said  everything  was  in  readi- 
ness for  turning  on  the  current  that  has  the  power  to  drift  a 
soul  from  this  world  to  another  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 
The  battery  had  been  thoroughly  tested, — and  detested, 
too.  In  less  than  thirty  seconds  from  the  time  an  ordi- 
nary prisoner  enters  a  door  of  this  world  he  enters  the  door 
of  another ;  but,  Pod,  being  a  man  of  extraordinary  nerve, 
walked  out  the  door  he  entered.  When  I  climbed  into  that 
terrible  chair,  I  held  my  breath.  The  keeper  said  it  re- 
quired only  a  certain  number  of  volts  to  kill  a  man ;  that 
fifty  thousand,  such  as  the  warden  had  suggested  for  my 
pleasure,  would  not  so  much  as  singe  a  hair  of  my  head. 

24 


DONKEY'S  MANY  AILMENTS. 

If  I  survived  the  first  shock,  I  would  have  something  to 
boast ;  as  it  would  be  abusing  a  confidence  to  describe  the 
sensations  of  electrocution,  I  must  not  do  so. 

On  returning  to  the  office  the  warden  congratulated  me, 
and  said  I  had  earned  my  freedom.  He  even  presented 
me  a  plaster  of  Paris  ornament, — made  by  a  prisoner 
who  had  never  seen  Paris, — and  a  package  of  prison-made 
tobacco,  which  I  might  chew,  or  eschew,  as  I  liked.  While 
I  appreciated  these  gifts,  how  much  more  I  should  have 
valued  a  battery  of  electrical  currents  to  administer  to  my 
donkey. 

Crowds  assembled  to  view  our  exit  from  town  at  two 
o'clock.  We  reached  Croton,  some  six  miles  beyond, 
about  dusk.  As  we  approached  the  bridge  crossing  of  the 
Croton  River,  I  saw  a  duck  and  thought  I  would  test  my 
marksmanship  with  a  revolver.  My  drowsy  steed  had 
nearly  reached  the  center  of  the  bridge  when  I  banged  at 
the  innocent  hell-diver.  A  compound  disaster  followed 
the  shot  as  the  frightened  jackass  shied  to  the  left  and 
dashed  through  the  iron  frame-work,  tail  over  ears  into 
the  river,  scraping  me  out  of  the  saddle,  but  dropping  me, 
fortunately,  on  the  bridge.  I  managed,  however,  to  get 
the  duck;  the  donk  got  the  ducking.  It  was  a  marvel 
that  he  didn't  drown ;  from  the  way  he  brayed,  I  judged 
he  was  of  the  same  opinion. 

Long  after  dark  we  arrived  in  Peekskill.  Throughout 
the  day  the  weather  was  threatening,  and  I  tramped  the 
last  three  miles  in  the  rain.  I  had  donned  my  mackintosh 
and  slung  my  overcoat  across  the  saddle,  and  was  pacing 
ahead  of  Mac,  with  reins  in  hand,  coaxing  the  stubborn 
beast  on,  when  suddenly  he  jumped.  I  turned  just  in 
time  to  discover  in  the  darkness  two  men,  one  of  whom 
was  suspiciously  near  to  the  donkey.  I  told  them  civilly  to 
walk  ahead,  as  they  excited  my  animal. 

25 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

"That's  none  of  our  business,"  one  of  them  remarked ; 
"we'll  walk  where  we  d d  please." 

"Not  this  time,"  I  said,  as  I  got  the  drop  on  them  with 
my  new  shooting-iron;  and  I  marched  the  ruffians  into 
town.  The  sneaks  probably  wanted  my  overcoat.  Before 
we  were  fairly  in  town  I  dismissed  them,  and  advised 
them  thereafter  to  cultivate  civility  toward  travelers. 

It  was  Friday  night.  I  called  upon  the  Mayor,  and  en- 
gaged the  Town  Hall  for  a  lecture,  resolved  to  try  my 
luck  again  in  that  line.  Alas !  my  second  reverse !  This 
time  it  was  a  too  impromptu  affair. 

Sunday  I  rested,  but  Monday,  when  everything  augured 
bright  for  the  week,  I  was  shocked  to  find  Macaroni  ill. 
At  once  I  summoned  a  doctor,  a  dentist,  and  a  veterinary 
surgeon  for  a  consultation,  and  breathlessly  awaited  the 
verdict. 

"Your  jackass  has  a  complication  of  diseases,"  said  the 
vet ;  "among  them  influenza,  bots,  and  hives." 

"He  has  the  measles,"  pronounced  the  doctor. 

"He  is  teething,"  insisted  the  dentist. 

This  was  too  much ;  with  a  troubled  brow  and  an  empty 
stomach  I  went  to  breakfast,  and  left  the  doctors  to  fight 
it  out. 


26 


CHAPTER  III. 

Little  drops  of  water, 

Little  grains  of  dirt, 
Make  the  roads  so  muddy 

Donk  won't  take  a  spurt. 

— Dogeared  Doggerels — Pod. 

Never  before  had  I  encountered  such  a  disagreeable 
road.  While  I  tramped  over  the  highlands  from  Peeks- 
kill  to  Fishkill  Landing,  Macaroni  barely  crawled.  He 
kept  me  constantly  in  the  fear  that  he  would  lie  down  and 
roll,  and  finally  he  did  so,  selecting  a  mud  puddle.  I  was 
told  donkeys  fairly  dote  on  dust,  and  that  a  roll  will  in- 
vigorate them  more  than  will  a  measure  of  grain.  But 
mine  was  different  to  other  donkeys. 

Before  leaving  Peekskill,  Dr.  Shook  said  Mac  showed 
symptoms  of  mud  fever,  although  the  tendency  lay 
strongly  toward  phlebitus,  farcy,  and  poll-evil.  He  even 
warned  me  that  I  might  expect  epizootic  to  set  in  any  day. 

To  urge  Mac  on  to  Newburgh  in  one  day  necessitated 
my  start,  at  day-break.  We  reached  the  Fishkill  ferry  at 
half-past  eight,  covering  the  twenty-mile  journey  in  fif- 
teen hours.  The  highland  road  was  rough  where  the  mud 
had  dried.  Steep  and  rocky  summits  stood  out,  bold  and 
barren,  save  where  occasional  bunches  of  young  cedars 
huddled  among  the  denuded  trees. 

Finally  I  saw  a  small  structure,  through  whose  open 
windows  could  be  heard  a  chorus  of  youthful  voices  in- 
toning. "The — dog — caught — the — pig — by — the — yer." 
It  was  a  school  house.  I  remembered  that  song  of  my 

27 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

boyhood;  I  thought  it  would  be  interesting  to  drop  in, 
and  forthwith  rapped  on  the  door.  Meanwhile,  Mac  stuck 
his  head  in  the  window,  causing  a  deafening  chime  of 
cries  within.  A  painful  silence  followed.  I  waited  pa- 
tiently for  admittance;  then  I  opened  the  door.  The 
room  was  deserted,  the  exit  at  the  opposite  end  wide  open, 
I  crossed  the  floor  and  looked  out  to  discover  the  teacher 
and  two  dozen  young  ones  scurrying  up  the  mountain 
through  the  scant  woods.  I  called  to  them,  but  they  ran 
the  faster.  Wonder  what  they  thought  they  saw  ? 

With  every  mile's  advance  we  penetrated  more  deeply 
the  mountain  wilderness.  Before  long  Macaroni  began 
to  slow  up.  Again  I  had  recourse  to  the  scheme  of  sus- 
pending an  apple  over  his  head.  The  beast  increased  his 
speed  at  once,  making  a  lunge  at  the  unobtainable,  and 
chasing  it  with  rapid  stride.  He  evidently  had  never  read 
the  story  about  the  boy  who  pursued  a  rainbow,  and  un- 
like that  boy,  was  stupid  enough  to  be  fooled  twice.  A 
few  miles  beyond  I  answered  some  inquiries  of  a  woman 
out  driving,  and  sold  her  a  photo.  I  had  no  sooner 
stopped  with  the  article  in  hand  than  I  was  startled  with 
the  sound  of  gagging  behind,  and  turning,  I  beheld  the 
donkey  wrenching  in  the  throes  of  strangulation.  Hav- 
ing lowered  the  apple  to  the  ground,  he  had  swallowed  it, 
together  with  the  string  and  half  the  bough.  I  with- 
drew the  "intrusions"  with  difficulty,  and  returned  to  the 
woman  who  had  fainted.  I  had  no  restoratives ;  but  I  had 
once  resuscitated  a  Jew  with  a  novel  expedient,  and  de- 
termined to  try  the  same  plan  in  this  case. 

"These  pictures  are  fifteen  cents  each,  although  I  some- 
times get  twenty-five  for  one,"  I  said  somewhat  forcibly ; 
"don't  trouble  yourself,  madam,  trust  me  with  your 
pocket-book,  I  will — ."  At  once  the  woman  awoke,  and 
counting  out  the  lesser  amount  mentioned,  pulled  on  the 

28 


POLISHING  SHOES  AT  VASSAR. 

reins  and  drove  away.  Let  me  grasp  the  hand  of  that 
man  who  can  beat  a  woman  at  a  bargain ! 

When  passing  through  Cold  Spring,  I  was  startled  by 
the  booming  of  cannon  at  West  Point,  just  across  the 
river.  I  had  not  expected  such  honors.  So  overawed 
was  I  by  the  salute  that  I  forgot  to  count  the  guns,  but 
presume  there  were  twenty-one.  Far  above  and  behind 
the  group  of  academic  buildings  still  frowned  old  Fort 
Putnam,  deploring  its  shameful  neglect,  and  casting 
envious  glances  at  the  modern  Observatory  below  and  the 
newer  buildings  lower  down.  Every  mile  of  the  beautiful 
Hudson  recalled  to  mind  happy  memories  of  my  own 
school  days,  which  made  my  present  ordeal  doubly  dis- 
tressing. 

When  night  lowered  her  sombre  shades,  my  thoughts 
took  flight  to  more  distant  scenes.  My  heart  and  brain 
grew  weary,  and  I  forgot  for  a  time  that  my  bones  were 
lame  and  my  feet  sore  from  walking,  walking,  walking 
on  an  endless  journey,  with  no  perceptible  evidence  of  ap- 
proaching nearer  to  the  goal.  At  length,  the  Albany 
night  boat  steamed  past  us,  its  myriad  lights  dancing  on 
the  ruffled  waters,  or  revealing  a  jolly  group  of  passen- 
gers on  deck.  The  air  was  painfully  quiet ;  and  when  the 
song,  "Oh,  Where  is  My  Wandering  Boy  To-night," 
floated  over  to  me  in  answer  to  Macaroni's  bray,  I  found 
consolation  in  the  thought  that  perhaps  some  of  the  tour- 
ists recognized  my  outfit  in  the  dark,  and  pitied  me. 

I  had  by  this  time  discovered  mountain  climbing  to  be 
a  donkey's  leading  card.  He  may  loiter  on  the  flat,  but 
he  will  make  you  hump  when  it  comes  to  steep  ascents. 
The  night  was  mild  for  that  season  of  the  year,  and  be- 
coming considerably  heated,  I  doffed  my  overcoat  and 
spread  it  over  the  saddle  on  my  mackintosh.  When  we 
were  descending  the  hill  on  the  other  side,  I  dismounted 

29 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

and  led  Mac  with  the  bridle  reins,  but  kept  a  good  watch 
on  the  coats.  After  a  while,  however,  I  became  so  ab- 
sorbed in  thought  that  I  neglected  my  duty,  and,  finally, 
when  I  did  turn  to  inspect  them  they  were  missing.  It 
gave  me  the  worst  fright  I  had  experienced  since  leaving 
New  York. 

Staking  Mac  to  a  gooseberry  bush,  I  immediately  re- 
traced my  steps  a  mile  or  more  through  an  Egyptian  dark- 
ness before  I  found  the  garments  lying  securely  in  the 
mud.  On  my  return  to  the  bush  I  was  alarmed  not  to  find 
the  donkey.  That  "phenomenon"  had  eaten  that  prickly 
shrub  to  the  roots  and  fled  either  down  the  road  to  Fishkill 
or  through  the  woods.  I  started  out  for  town  on  a  run. 
Imagine  my  astonishment  to  find  Mac  patiently  standing  in 
front  of  the  ferry.  The  boat  had  landed  her  passengers ; 
and  had  the  donkey  not  taken  the  precaution  to  anticipate 
me,  we  should  have  had  to  remain  on  that  side  of  the 
river  for  the  night.  As  it  was,  the  ferry  waited  for  Mac's 
rider — thanks  to  the  considerate  pilot. 

Newburgh !  I  recognized  her  by  her  streets  at  an  angle 
of  45  degrees.  Mac  took  to  the  place  hugely.  I  stopped 
at  a  small  combination  hotel  and  restaurant,  where  roast 
turkey  and  pumpkin  pie  decorated  the  windows,  and  made 
arrangements  for  the  night. 

When  about  to  leave,  I  was  visited  by  a  delegation  from 
the  local  militia  who,  for  a  fair  consideration,  induced  us 
both  to  remain  over  and  referee  a  game  of  basket  ball 
that  evening  at  the  armory.  Mac  did  not  accept  very 
gracefully,  and  had  to  be  coerced.  What  I  knew  about 
the  game  wouldn't  tax  a  baby's  mind,  but  that  didn't  mat- 
ter. It  proved  to  be  an  event  for  the  regiment,  for  Pod, 
and  for  Macaroni. 

Next  day  I  found  my  donkey's  maladies  increasing. 
They  had  already  tripled  in  number  since  leaving  Peeks- 

30 


POLISHING  SHOES  AT  VASSAR. 

kill;  and,  to  think,  I  had  arrived  at  Newburg  just  two 
days  too  late  to  secure  a  sound  animal. 

I  pushed  on  to  Poughkeepsie. 

Upon  arriving  at  that  university  city  I  was  pleased  to 
find  the  inhabitants  not  quite  so  slow  as  the  appearance 
of  the  place  would  indicate.  The  city  has  of  late  years 
become  the  Henley  of  America.  It  is  the  seat  of  East- 
man's business  college,  as  well  as  a  very  progressive  col- 
lege for  girls — Vassar.  The  residents  generally  drop 
three  letters  in  spelling  the  name  of  their  proud  city,  and 
make  it  Po'keepsie.  There  were  four  good  points  I  liked 
about  the  place,  and  that  was  one  of  them ;  the  other  three 
were,  the  Mayor,  the  Vassar  girls,  and  a  newspaper  re- 
porter who,  for  a  consideration,  engaged  Mac  and  me  to 
appear  at  the  theatre  in  an  amateur  play. 

It  was  to  be  a  new  stage  in  our  travels.  The  urchin 
who  led  the  donkey  about  the  streets  proudly  bore  in  one 
hand  a  standard  inscribed:  "KEEP  YOUR  EYES  ON 
THE  DONKEY ;"  and  those  who  obeyed  saw  printed  on 
a  canvas  blanket  gracefully  draped  over  Mac's  back  the 
startling  announcement :  "WILL  APPEAR  TO-NIGHT 
IN  HOGAN'S  ALLEY,  AT  KIRCHNER'S  HALL." 
I  believe  Mac  paraded  the  city  utterly  oblivious  of  the 
interest  he  created. 

I  had  promised  to  have  my  donkey  at  the  Hall  at  five 
sharp.  There  were  two  staircases  for  him  to  climb,  and 
I  had  not  contemplated  the  enormity  of  the  task  before 
me.  We  tugged  on  his  halter ;  we  set  three  dogs  barking 
at  his  heels ;  but  the  only  time  he  stirred  was  when  he  re- 
moved the  dogs.  He  just  braced  himself  well  against  the 
curb,  and  brayed  until  he  had  called  the  audience  to  the 
show  two  hours  ahead  of  time.  After  a  while  two  strong 
policemen  took  a  hand  with  me  in  a  three-handed  game, 
and  turned  over  a  jack.  Finally,  four  more  men  assisting, 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

the  beast  was  carried  upstairs  and  into  the  theatre,  where 
he  was  forced  to  walk  a  plank  on  to  the  stage.  Then  I 
fed  and  watered  him,  and  combing  his  fur  the  right  way, 
left  him  to  the  melancholy  contemplation  of  his  position. 

When  we  returned  an  hour  later,  he  was  still  as  im- 
movable as  a  statue.  The  stage  manager  directed  me  to 
ride  the  donkey  out  from  behind  the  scenery  at  a  given 
signal ;  so  I  began  to  practice  with  him.  I  cannot  describe 
all  that  happened  the  next  hour.  By  seven  o'clock  Mac 
was  fairly  broken,  and  everything  looked  promising. 

The  house  was  crowded ;  only  a  portion  of  the  attend- 
ance of  the  fair  held  in  connection  with  the  play,  down 
stairs,  could  find  seats;  and  the  performance  was  to  be 
repeated.  One  part  of  the  play,  however,  not  on  the  pro- 
gram, could  not  be  reproduced.  Apparently  no  attempts 
had  ever  been  made  to  convert  Mac  to  religion,  for  when 
the  Salvation  Army  entered  the  scene,  banging  drums  and 
clashing  cymbals,  the  terrified  jack  began  to  back  toward 
the  footlights.  The  stage  manager,  fearing  lest  the  beast 
might  back  off  the  stage,  dropped  the  curtain.  But  that 
didn't  check  Mac ;  he  backed  against  the  curtain  and  un- 
der it,  and  dropped  plumb  into  the  audience,  making  five 
"laps"  in  a  second,  his  best  time  to  date.  One  fat  man, 
over-burdened,  crashed  through  his  chair.  Fortunately 
nobody  was  seriously  injured,  but  several  had  spasms,  and 
more  than  one  girl  crawled  over  the  backs  of  the  seats  in 
terror.  "Such  doings,"  as  a  paper  stated  next  day,  "were 
never  known  before  in  this  town  in  the  annals  of  donkeys 
— four-legged  or  two-legged  either." 

As  soon  as  the  exqitement  was  over,  Mac  was  assisted 
on  to  the  stage,  and  the  play  was  twice  repeated,  all  three 
performances  before  crowded  houses. 

While  returning  Mac  to  his  stable  I  heard  the  bray  of 
a  donkey,  and  resolved  next  day  to  look  him  up.  Then  I 

32 


POLISHING  SHOES  AT  VASSAR. 

sent  a  message  to  a  young  lady  friend  at  Vassar,  and 
wrote  my  weekly  story  for  the  papers. 

I  frequently  refer  to  my  Vassar  friends,  but  I  doubt  if 
they  ever  mention  me.  I  had  written  one  that  I  would 
polish  two  dozen  pairs  of  Vassar  shoes  at  the  rate  of  fifty 
cents  a  pair,  either  on,  or  off.  Allowing  me  two  minutes 
for  each  pair  and  half  a  minute  for  making  change,  I  be- 
lieved I  could  polish  to  the  queen's  taste  some  forty-eight 
pairs  in  two  hours.  My  proposal  was  accepted.  The 
hour  set  was  5  :oo  A.  M.,  while  the  teachers  would  be 
dreaming  about  the  binomial  formula,  blue  light,  and 
turnips.  And  I  was  expected  to  polish  the  shoes  on  the 
foot. 

Accordingly,  I  was  aroused  from  slumber  at  four,  and 
practiced  on  the  stove  legs  for  a  full  half-hour,  to  get 
polishing  down  to  a  science.  Then  I  took  the  trolley  car 
to  the  hedge  fence,  stole  in  through  the  stately  gate,  and 
took  the  time  of  the  huge  clock  above  the  entrance.  Then 
I  took  my  own  time.  I  had  four  minutes  to  spare,  and 
knew  Vassar  girls  were  anything  but  slow. 

"The  days  of  chivalry  are  not  gone,"  says  George  Eliot, 
"notwithstanding  Burke's  grand  dirge  over  them;  they 
live  still  in  that  far-off  worship  paid  by  many  a  youth 
and  man  to  the  woman  of  whom  he  never  dreams  that  he 
shall  touch  so  much  as  her  little  finger  or  the  hem  of  her 
robe."  I  had  no  sooner  placed  my  chair  at  the  right 
marble  staircase  than  I  heard  the  rustle  of  skirts,  imme- 
diately followed  by  a  bevy  of  charming  girls  stealing 
down  the  steps  on  tip-toe,  all  a-giggle  and  a-smile,  bal- 
ancing their  supple  forms  with  outstretched  arms,  and 
enlivening  the  early  dawn  with  the  mischief  beaming  from 
their  eyes.  "Good  morning,"  they  said,  as  each  in  turn 
shook  hands  with  me.  I  was  inspired  to  hug  every  one 
of  them,  but  dared  not  show  the  lack  of  polish. 

33 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

Raising  my  hat,  I  said  softly,  "Shine,"  and  number  one 
mounted  the  throne,  soon  to  be  "daubed"  a  queen.  Bless 
me !  wasn't  she  pretty !  As  she  gaily  lifted  her  skirts  to 
give  my  brushes  a  free  swing,  a  perfect  pair  of  ankles 
burst  into  view,  daintily  imprisoned  in  black  silk  hose, 
and — well,  I  naturally  was  excited.  Blacking  flew  like 
the  mud  did  when  the  beer  wagon  bumped  against  Mac, 
and  a  brush  flopped  out  of  my  hand  through  a  colored 
window,  letting  in  more  light,  for  it  was  still  quite  dusky. 
It  seemed  to  be  impossible  for  the  young  lady  to  keep  her 
feet  in  place  on  the  block,  and  not  until  she  suggested  I 
should  hold  her  boot  in  place  did  I  begin  to  polish  to  my 
credit.  After  that  no  girl  could  keep  her  feet  stationary 
unless  I  held  her  foot  with  one  hand  and  polished  with 
the  other.  "Next,"  and  another  winsome  creature  took 
the  chair,  and  poured  fifty  pennies  into  my  hand.  I  took 
it  for  granted  that  she  was  some  copper  king's  daughter. 

I  worked  so  hard  that  I  was  soon  perspiring.  After 
finishing  a  dozen  pair,  when  about  to  polish  the  second 
shoe  on  number  thirteen,  someone  claimed  she  heard  a 
professor  reading  Volapuk.  At  once  there  was  a  scurry, 
and  a  rustle  of  skirts.  Number  thirteen  kicked  over  the 
blacking  accidental,  and  fled  with  one  shoe  unpolished ;  but 
that  odd  shoe  did  just  as  good  service  as  any  of  the  rest. 
The  whole  bevy  of  girls  vanished  before  I  had  time  to 
collect  my  senses,  my  chair,  and  my  brushes,  and  chase 
myself  away.  When  once  started,  I  ran  to  beat  the  cars, 
and  reached  the  hotel  in  time  for  breakfast,  the  richer  by 
six  dollars  and  a  lace  handkerchief. 

Come  to  think  of  it,  what  an  extr'ordinary  adventure 
that  was  for  a  modest  and  dignified  traveler  with  a 
donkey!  I  wondered,  as  I  sipped  my  coffee,  what  the 
Principal  said  when  she  discovered  so  many  neat-looking 
shoes. 

34 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Shame  on  the  world !  said  I  to  myself.  Did  we  but 
love  each  other  as  this  poor  soul  loved  his  ass,  'twould 
be  something. 

— Sentimental  Journey — Stearne. 

An  empty  heart  is  like  an  empty  barrel  conveniently 
located ;  nobody  will  dare  to  gamble  on  the  first  thing  to 
be  thrown  into  it :  and  a  full  heart,  like  a  barrel  of  fruit, 
must  be  sorted  frequently,  lest  a  bit  of  blemish  corrupt 
the  whole. 

My  heart  was  as  full  of  Macaroni  from  New  York  to 
Po'keepsie  as  my  stomach  once  had  been  from  Milan  to 
Naples.  I  first  fancied  my  donkey,  next  admired  him, 
suddenly  became  conscious  of  a  growing  contempt  for 
him,  and  finally  pity,  now  that  the  time  for  parting  with 
him  had  come.  Having  depended  entirely  upon  the  stupid 
beast  for  companionship,  he  really  had  become  a  pet. 
Often  he  had  offended  and  vexed  me  beyond  seeming 
pardon ;  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  afforded  me  amusement 
during  my  lonesome  hours,  often  causing  me  to  laugh  out- 
right at  his  antics.  But,  in  order  to  complete  my  journey 
on  time,  I  felt  I  must  avail  myself  of  the  first  opportun- 
ity to  exchange  him  for  a  livelier  steed.  It  was  my 
Vassar  friend  who  told  me  about  Dr.  Jackson  and  his 
precocious  donkey ;  she  claimed  the  animal  often  displayed 
human  intelligence. 

With  some  difficulty  I  found  the  doctor's  residence; 
when,  introducing  myself  and  acquainting  him  with  my 
errand,  he  put  on  his  hat  and  took  me  to  the  barn.  Be- 

35 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

hold !  the  cutest  little  donkey  I  ever  saw.  He  was  a  sleek, 
slender  creature  of  blush  color,  with  an  intelligent  but 
roguish  countenance,  and  with  cropped  ears  which  gave 
him  a  semblance  to  a  deer.  The  doctor  said  the  animal 
was  hardly  three  years  old.  His  hoofs  were  very  small, 
so  tiny  that  he  might  have  stepped  into  an  after-dinner 
cup  and  not  damaged  more  than  your  appetite  for  coffee. 

"What  do  you  call  the  little  fellow?"  I  asked. 

"Mac  A'Rony,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  coincidence  made  me  smile.  "That,  too,  is  my 
donkey's  name,"  I  declared,  somewhat  to  his  astonish- 
ment. He  then  spelled  his  animal's  name,  showing  that 
there  was  as  much  difference  between  the  names  as  be- 
tween the  donkeys,  between  patrician  and  plebeian.  He 
said  that  Mac  A'Rony  was  the  lineal  descendant  of  an 
ancient  and  honorable  family  of  Irish  asses;  whereas,  I 
believed  Macaroni  could  boast  of  no  more  distinguished 
heritage  than  that  of  Italian  peasantry.  The  doctor  even 
harbored,  the  suspicion  that  his  donkey  must  be  a  descend- 
ant of  Balaam's  famous  ass. 

"His  bluish  coat  is  a  reflection  of  the  blue  blood  in  his 
veins,"  observed  the  doctor;  and  I  was  made  to  feel  of 
the  same  opinion. 

I  coveted  that  donkey,  but  had  little  hope  of  securing  it, 
as  my  means  were  so  limited.  Imagine  my  astonishment" 
when  the  doctor  proposed  that  we  make  an  even  ex- 
change of  animals. 

"If  your  overland  journey  continues  to  be  as  notable  as 
it  is  thus  far,"  said  he,  "I  should  like  to  possess  the  first 
donkey  you  used." 

I  dared  not  believe  my  ears. 

"But  you  have  not  seen  my  donkey,"  I  reminded  him. 

"I  will  accept  your  representation  of  the  animal,"  he 
replied.  The  bargain  made,  we  parted.  An  hour  later 

36 


AN    EVEN    TRADE    NO    ROBBERY 

Macaroni  was  in  the  doctor's  barn,  and  Mac  A'Rony  in 
the  livery  stable.  The  greatest  objection  I  had  to  my 
new  companion  was  his  youth.  The  fastidious  appetite  of 
this  Irish  gentleman  demanded  bread,  and  other  table 
fare ;  he  actually  stuck  up  his  nose  at  oats  and  hay.  What 
would  he  do  should  we  get  stranded!  I  might  live  a 
whole  day  on  three  milk  punches  which  I  could  pay  for 
with  photos,  but  experience  had  taught  me  it  required 
many  punches  to  keep  a  donkey  moving. 

When  about  to  depart,  I  was  disconcerted  to  discover 
the  doctor's  boy  riding  his  new  possession  down  the  street 
toward  the  hotel.  Macaroni  seemed  to  realize  we  were  to 
part  forever.  There  was  a  sad,  depressed  look  in  his 
eyes ;  his  brows  knitted,  and  his  nose  wept,  as  he  brayed 
"When  shall  we  three  meet  again."  I  felt  a  pang  in  my 
heart,  and  turning  my  eyes  from  him,  headed  Mac 
A'Rony  for  the  West. 

Shortly  afterward,  I  was  stopped  by  a  blacksmith  who 
recognized  Mac  and  asked  to  shoe  him,  saying  he  would 
do  it  for  a  picture,  seeing  it  was  I.  Of  course,  I  was  de- 
lighted, and  leaving  the  donkey  in  his  custody,  dropped  in 
a  restaurant  and  lunched;  after  which  I  bought  Mac  a 
loaf  of  graham  bread. 

The  kind-hearted  blacksmith  had  several  horses  wait- 
ing to  be  shod,  and  it  was  nearly  night  when  Mac  A'Rony 
ceased  to  be  a  "bare-foot  boy."  I  remained  in  Po'keepsie 
over  night,  and  early  next  day,  Friday,  set  out  for  Kings- 
ton. But  that  quadruped  traveled  so  fast  that  he  tired  out 
after  going  a  few  miles,  and  I  had  to  put  up  at  a  little  inn 
at  Staatsburg  for  the  night.  Had  it  not  been  that  I  sold 
next  day  a  number  of  photos  at  princely  villas  on  the  way, 
I  should  have  had  trouble  to  keep  from  starving.  No  re- 
mittance had  come  from  the  papers  as  yet,  and  lecturing 
was  out  of  the  question  at  that  time.  I  had  written  to 

37 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

several  soap,  sarsaparilla,  tobacco  and  pill  companies  for 
a  contract  to  advertise  their  stuffs  by  distributing  cir- 
culars, or  samples,  or  displaying  a  sign  from  my  donkey's 
back,  but  thus  far  had  received  no  favorable  replies. 

At  length  the  blue  summits  of  the  Catskills  loomed 
against  an  azure  sky  in  the  west,  and  I  caught  occasional 
glimpses  of  Kingston  and  Rondout,  the  twin  cities,  nest- 
ling in  the  foothills  by  the  Hudson. 

At  three  o'clock  we  crossed  the  ferry,  and  soon  after- 
ward arrived  at  the  Mansion  House,  Kingston.  The 
landlord  received  us  with  gracious  hospitality,  but  I,  hav- 
ing lost  so  much  time  by  accident  and  other  misfortune, 
only  tarried  for  the  night,  and  hastened  on  up  the  valley. 

The  days  were  perceptibly  shorter  while  we  traveled  in 
the  shadow  of  the  Catskills.  The  roads  were  so  heavy, 
and  the  recent  cold  I  had  contracted  so  stiff  and  uncom- 
fortable, that  I  decided  at  seven  o'clock  to  spend  the  night 
at  a  German  road-house.  Landlord  Schoentag  gave  us 
soft  beds,  in  spite  of  his  hard  name,  and  his  spouse  was 
kind  enough  to  make  me  a  hot  brandy  and  a  foot  bath.  I 
drank  the  one;  Mac  cheated  me  of  the  other.  I  retired 
early  under  a  pile  of  bedding  as  thick  as  it  was  short,  and 
soon  found  myself  in  a  terrible  sweat.  This  was  not  due 
alone  to  the  comfortables,  but  to  a  party  of  convivial 
young  people,  who  thrummed  on  a  discordant  piano,  and 
sang,  and  danced  till  daylight,  their  hilarity  causing  Mac 
in  the  stable  sundry  vocal  selections,  such  as  should  have 
disturbed  the  spirit  of  Rip  Van  Winkle,  eight  miles  away. 

Monday  we  pushed  on  toward  Saugerties.  But  for  a 
delay  at  Soaper's  Creek  Bridge,  we  should  have  reached 
Catskill  before  dark.  MacA'Rony  stopped  stock  still  at  the 
bridge  approach,  and  neither  the  eloquence  of  gad  nor 
gab  moved  him  an  inch.  I  petted  him  and  patted  him; 

38 


AN    EVEN    TRADE    NO    ROBBERY 

I  stroked  his  ears  and  I  rubbed  his  nose ;  and  then  I  asked 
him  point  blank  what  ailed  him. 

"You  big  fool,  can't  you  see  that  sign  up  there?"  he 
retorted,  as  he  eyed  me  squarely.  It  was  fully  sixty  sec- 
onds before  I  realized  that  the  animal  had  actually  spoken ; 
then  I  looked  up  and  read  the  sign  hanging  from  the  iron 
girder  overhead,  "Ten  dollars  fine  for  riding  or  driving 
over  this  bridge  faster  than  a  walk."  I  must  say  I  greatly 
appreciated  Mac's  consideration  for  my  pocket-book,  but 
his  obduracy  struck  me  as  being  not  a  little  absurd,  since 
he  had  not  yet  demonstrated  to  me  that  he  could  go  faster 
than  a  walk,  even  on  a  level  and  unimpeded  road.  All  I 
could  do  was  to  sit  down  on  a  stone  and,  like  Macawber, 
wait  for  something  to  turn  up.  It  seemed  ages  before  a 
farmer  came  along  with  a  ton  of  hay ;  he  was  kind  enough 
to  slide  off  the  load  and  assist  me  to  carry  the  donkey 
across  the  bridge. 

The  night  was  spent  in  Catskill.  Smith's  Hotel  was 
swarming  with  busy  grangers,  generally  good-hearted, 
garrulous  characters,  whose  society  lightened  the  tedium 
of  two  days,  while  I  nursed  my  cold  and  weaned  Mac. 
We  reached  Athens,  a  village  eight  miles  to  the  north, 
Wednesday  noon,  but  being  somewhat  rusty  in  Greek,  I 
ferried  the  river  to  Hudson.  A  light  snow  had  fallen ;  the 
wind  was  sharp  shod,  and  traveled  forty  miles  an  hour. 

A  small  German  hotel  opened  its  doors  to  us,  and  I  per- 
suaded Mac  to  ascend  the  low  stoop  and  venture  half  his 
length  indoors;  the  landlord  aided  me  at  the  helm  and 
we  managed  to  anchor  my  "craft"  out  of  range  of  the 
storm,  though  we  couldn't  get  it  across  the  bar.  Mac  lay 
down  in  a  heap,  and  I  called  for  port,  to  find  none  in  stock. 
Suddenly,  a  man  in  shirt  sleeves  hastily  entered  with  a 
pitcher  in  hand,  and  before  he  could  check  himself,  went 
sprawling  over  the  frightened  beast,  smashing  the  pitcher 

39 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

and  setting  Mac, to  braying.  The  man  hurriedly  collected 
himself,  glanced  at  the  strange-looking  quadruped,  and 
not  stopping  for  beer,  fled  in  dismay.  When  the  storm 
had  abated  somewhat,  we  started  for  Kinderhook. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  trailed  into  a  thrifty  little 
town  where  I  found  stock  port  in  Stockport.  Here  the 
cheery  aspect  of  the  Brookside  Hotel  tempted  me  to  re- 
main over  night,  and  doctor  the  severe  cold  in  my  chest. 
This  tavern,  the  pride  of  the  village,  was  said  to  be  the 
oldest  on  the  old  "post  road"  from  New  York  to  Albany. 
So  comfortable  was  the  hotel  that  I  hesitated  long  before 
accepting  a  cordial  invitation,  extended  to  me  through 
his  coachman,  to  be  the  guest  of  the  wealthiest  resident 
of  the  town.  I  was  driven  over  to  the  home  of  Mr.  Van 

,  and  the  affable  gentleman  introduced  me  to  his 

family,  before  driving  me  to  his  father's  residence.  The 
old  gentleman  was  enthusiastic  in  his  reception  of  the 
donkey  traveler,  and  after  doping  me  with  some  delicious 
cider,  reluctantly  allowed  his  son  to  keep  me  for  the  night. 

After  a  month  of  "roughing  it,"  my  happy  affiliation 
with  those  refined  and  cultured  people  acted  like  a  healing 
balm  to  my  wearied  heart.  Many  and  many  a  time  there- 
after on  the  tiresome,  lonesome  trail  did  my  memory  re- 
call that  pleasant  evening.  The  daughters  entertained  me 
with  music  and  song,  the  parents  brought  out  refresh- 
ments, and,  at  last,  with  a  hot  foot-bath,  and  a  hotter  mus- 
tard leaf  on  my  chest,  I  retired. 

Next  morning,  Georgie,  the  little  son,  rushed  into  my 
chamber  calling,  "Get  up,  you  people,  the  pancakes  are 
getting  cold!" 

"All  right,"  I  answered  meekly. 

"Oh !"  the  little  fellow  gasped  with  astonishment,  as  he 
beheld  Pod  tucked  neck-deep  in  eider-down.  "I — I — I 
thought  you  was  the  girls." 

40 


"We  consumed  a  half  hour  in  the  gigantic  task." 


"I  found  the  captive  drinking  with  other  jackasses.' 


AN    EVEN    TRADE    NO    ROBBERY 

The  boy  had  retired  early  the  evening  before,  quite  ig- 
norant of  the  fact  that  the  eccentric  traveler  was  delegated 
to  snooze  in  his  sisters'  bedroom. 

Through  the  happy  agency  of  conversation  Mr.  Van 

and  I  discovered  a  mutual  friendship.  The  family, 

somewhat  to  my  embarrassment,  insisted  upon  purchasing 
pictures  galore,  and  after  breakfast  and  a  little  music  in 
the  glow  of  a  blazing  fireplace,  I  donned  my  overcoat  and 
made  my  adieux. 

How  chill  and  heartless  that  December  morning  was! 
The  wind  blew  my  plug  hat  off  to  begin  with,  and,  as  I 
was  driven  to  the  Brookside  Inn,  had  the  courage  to  try  to 
freeze  my  face.  A  half  hour  later  Mac  and  Pod  were 
marching  to  Kinderhook. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Of  all  conceivable  journeys,  this  promised  to  be 
the  most  tedious.  I  tried  to  tell  myself  it  was  a  lovely 
day;  I  tried  to  charm  my  foreboding  spirit  with  to- 
bacco; but  I  had  a  vision  ever  present  to  me  of  the 
long,  long  roads,  up  hill  and  down  dale,  and  a  pair  of 
figures  ever  infinitesimally  moving,  foot  by  foot,  a 
yard  to  the  minute,  and,  like  things  enchanted  in  a 
nightmare,  approaching  no  nearer  to  the  goal. 

— Travels  with  a  Donkey — R.  L.  Stevenson. 

Kinderhook !  I  promised  myself  to  visit  the  seminary, 
so  popular  in  the  early  '6o's,  and  commune  with  the  spir- 
its of  those  charming  old-fashioned  girls  of  whom  mother 
had  often  spoken. 

After  dining  at  the  Kinderhook  Hotel,  I  looked  it  up, 
and  found  it  to  be  then  the  village  academy. 

The  cold  in  my  chest  pained  more  than  ever ;  I  began  to 
fear  pneumonia.  The  landlord's  wife  said  she  would  be 
a  mother  to  me.  Whew !  If  she  made  it  as  warm  for  her 
"old  man"  as  she  did  for  me,  I  pity  and  congratulate  him 
in  one  breath.  She  prepared  a  mustard  sitz-bath  (my  feet 
had  suffered  two  already)  powerful  enough,  she  declared, 
to  force  cold-blisters  on  my  hair;  she  slapped  mustard 
leaves  on  my  chest  and  back ;  she  gave  me  spirits  of  cam- 
phor for  my  lips,  witch-hazel  for  my  eyes,  a  pork  bandage 
for  my  neck,  and  liberal  doses  of  aconite,  quinine,  whis- 
key and  rum.  Then  she  innocently  asked  if  I  could  think 
of  any  other  place  my  cold,  when  fairly  on  the  run,  would 
be  likely  to  settle.  Being  unable  to  answer,  I  called  on  a 
physician. 

42 


THE   DONKEY   ON    SKATES 

"The  landlady  has  fixed  you  up  admirably,"  said  he; 
"I  cannot  benefit  you  further,  unless  I  advise  you  to  shave 
off  your  hair  when  the  blisters  have  settled  on  it,  to  pre- 
vent the  cold's  return." 

I  expressed  my  gratitude  for  his  kind  assurances,  and 
to  my  surprise,  though  he  had  an  electric  battery  in  his 
room,  he  refused  to  charge  me. 

Without  loss  of  time,  I  set  out  and  walked  two  miles  to 
the  old  homestead  of  President  Martin  Van  Buren,  that 
stood  back  from  the  road  behind  a  group  of  ancient  pines 
which  sighed  dolefully  as  I  passed. 

The  family  living  there  received  me  kindly,  and  showed 
me  the  library,  parlors  and  hall ;  the  old  Dutch  wall-paper, 
picturing  ancient  hunts,  watch-towers,  and  pastoral 
scenes,  recalled  a  pleasant  sojourn  in  Holland.  A  Wag- 
oner family  living  in  the  next  house  asked  me  to  dinner, 
and  I  "et"  with  them. 

"I  once  knew  a  Van  Wagoner,"  I  said ;  "they  were  fine 
people." 

"Our  family  were  originally  of  that  name,"  Mr.  Wag- 
oner replied.  "They  dropped  the  Van  some  time  ago." 

Mac  A'Rony  said  he  had  never  heard  of  Vans  being 
dropped  from  Wagoners,  but  had  often  seen  wagoners 
dropped  from  vans. 

I  next  crossed  the  bridge  spanning  the  creek  just  out  of 
town,  where,  it  is  said,  Washington  Irving  conceived  the 
story  of  the  headless  horseman. 

President  Van  Buren  gave  a  ball  to  some  statesmen, 
and  Irving  was  invited.  Some  wag  among  the  guests 
rigged  up  a  dummy  on  a  horse,  and  let  the  animal  loose  to 
give  the  author  a  scare.  Wash  never  lost  an  opportunity 
to  make  a  good  story,  and  he  made  use  of  the  idea. 

Mary  Ann  and  Lucretia  Van  Buren,  two  aged  spinsters, 
were  all  who  remained  of  the  illustrious  family.  I  called 

43 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

on  Mary  Ann  when  Lucretia  was  absent,  and  won  her 
favor  so  quickly  that  she  presented  me  with  a  little  oil 
painting  which  had  been  in  the  family  over  a  hundred 
years. 

Close  by  stood  the  old  brick  house,  formerly  a  fort, 
built  with  brick  brought  from  Holland.  One  brick  was 
carved  "1623."  I  saw  the  house  where  General  Burgoyne 
is  said  to  have  dined,  after  which  I  visited  Van  Buren's 
grave. 

We  slept  that  night  in  North  Chatham,  traveling  out  of 
the  direct  route  to  give  the  weak-kneed  donkey  as  level  a 
road  as  possible.  We  had  now  been  boon  companions  one 
week ;  it  seemed  a  month. 

Next  day,  we  passed  a  rickety  barn  in  which  two  horses 
were  engaged  at  a  huge  tread- wheel,  with  the  dual  object 
of  threshing  corn-stalks  and  of  keeping  their  ears  warm. 
My  ears  were  almost  frozen;  whereas  Mac  claimed  his 
were  as  warm  as  toast.  My  comrade  had  the  advantage 
over  me  in  being  able,  as  he  expressed  it,  to  wiggle  his 
ears  and  keep  the  blood  circulating. 

I  stopped  at  a  shanty  near,  and  asked  leave  to  warm 
myself,  and  begged  a  newspaper  to  put  in  my  breast.  A 
poverty-stricken  but  hospitable  man  welcomed  me,  and 
politely  took  my  hat  and  stuck  it  on  a  pitcher  of  milk. 
The  humble  habitation  contained  two  rooms,  one  store 
room,  the  other  the  living  room.  The  latter  was  furnished 
with  a  square  table,  now  set  for  the  mid-day  meal,  two 
beds,  a  stove  which  was  exerting  every  effort  to  boil  some 
ancient  pork  and  frozen  cabbage  to  a  state  of  "doneness," 
four  chairs,  and  a  wash-tub.  The  housewife  was  washing 
clothes  while  her  "old  man"  acted  as  cook.  A  dog  re- 
clined on  the  store-room  floor  watching  a  saw-horse. 
There  was  not  such  bric-a-brac  visible;  a  five-year-old 
calendar  and  two  or  three  unframed  chromos  hung  on  the 

44 


THE   DONKEY   ON    SKATES 

walls,  and  when  I  arose  to  go  I  discovered  behind  me  a 
cracked  mirror  and  a  comb  that  needed  dentistry.  I  was 
surprised  when  the  woman  handed  me  the  desired  paper ; 
I  should  not  have  accused  any  of  them  of  being  able  to 
read. 

"Wall,  yer  kin  see  haow  all  classes  of  folks  lives  eny 
haow,"  the  matron  observed,  as  she  screwed  her  face  out 
of  shape  in  her  anxiety  to  wring  the  last  drop  of  suds  out 
of  a  twisted  garment. 

"Yes,"  I  returned,  rising  and  reaching  for  my  hat,  "but 
how  my  donkey  and  I  can  manage  to  live  to  reach  'Frisco 
interests  me  more."  And  politely  declining  a  hunk  of 
pork  rind  and  black  bread  offered  me  for  a  pocket  lunch, 
much  to  the  gratification  of  the  house  cat,  I  sallied  forth 
into  the  biting  blast,  knocked  several  icicles  from  Mac 
A'Rony's  whiskers,  and  headed  for  the  state  capital. 

Further  on  we  tarried  a  few  moments  to  exchange  a 
word  or  two  with  an  inquisitive  hayseed,  who  planted  him- 
self in  the  road  before  us,  and  stretched  forth  a  brawny 
hand  for  both  of  us  to  shake. 

"Yer  th'  feller  what's  goin'  to  Fran  Sanfrisco,  hain't 
yer  ?"  the  old  man  questioned,  bracing  himself  against  the 
boisterous  gale. 

"Yep,"  I  replied  laconically.  And  at  once  Mac,  yield- 
ing to  a  mighty  gust  of  wind,  dashed  past  the  animate  ob- 
struction, dragging  his  master  with  him. 

"Whar  be  th'  biggest  crops  this  year?"  he  called  after 
us;  and  Mac,  assuming  the  question  was  put  to  him, 
shouted,  "In  ostriches.  Some  of  them  weigh  several 
stone."  As  I  looked  back  from  the  hill,  I  saw  the  statu- 
esque figure  still  gaping  at  us  behind  a  long,  frost-colored 
beard. 

The  roads  to  fame  and  to  the  capitol  are  hilly.  Fame 
seemed  to  be  more  easily  reached  in  slippery  weather  than 

45 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

the  capitol  in  dry.  Albany  had  just  experienced  a  heavy 
rain,  and  the  roads  had  frozen.  We  set  out  Monday  morn- 
ing to  pay  our  respects  to  the  Governor,  the  Mayor  and 
other  shining  lights.  When  half  way  up  the  ascent  to  the 
capitol,  Mac  A'Rony  slipped  off  his  feet  and  slid  to  the 
bottom  of  the  hill.  Of  course,  I  stayed  with  him ;  in  a  mo- 
ment we  had  won  fame.  The  excited  populace  thronged 
about  us,  and  the  reporters  hauled  out  their  paper  and 
pencils.  One  toboggan  slide  satisfied  Mac,  and  I  was 
compelled  to  return  him  to  the  stable  and  go  alone. 

The  Governor  was  in  his  chair  of  state  when  I  arrived 
at  the  Executive  Chamber.  The  rumor  that  the  odd  trav- 
eler, Pye  Pod,  was  in  the  ante-chamber  brought  a  smile  to 
his  lips,  which  he  still  wore  when  he  rose  to  grasp  my 
hand,  relishing  the  humor  which  I  had  failed  to  taste. 

"Don't  you  find  it  pretty  cold  traveling  these  days  ?"  the 
Governor  inquired,  as  he  sat  down  to  write  in  my  auto- 
graph album. 

"Rather,"  said  I.  The  Governor  chuckled,  wished  me 
good  luck  on  my  journey  and  commended  me  for  my 
pluck.  Then  I  was  ushered  through  the  magnificent 
capitol. 

After  lunching  with  an  aunt,  I  visited  the  Mayor.  He, 
like  other  notable  men,  received  me  graciously  and  wished 
me  joy,  prosperity  and  health. 

Tuesday  I  hustled  early  and  late  to  earn  a  dollar  above 
the  expenses  of  my  sojourn  in  the  up-hill  city.  Wednesday 
morning  I  received  a  small  check,  the  first  remittance  from 
the  papers.  It  was  only  two  days  before  Christmas.  The 
Holiday  season  seemed  to  have  absorbed  all  the  money  in 
circulation.  The  snow  now  lay  six  inches  deep  on  the 
level ;  it  had  snowed  all  night  and  was  snowing  still.  I 
greatly  needed  a  pair  of  felt  boots  with  rubber  overshoes, 
but  couldn't  afford  the  outlay.  So  I  wrapped  strips  of 

46 


THE    DONKEY    ON    SKATES 

gunnysacks  round  my  shoes  and  trouser  legs,  bought  a 
pair  of  earlaps,  and  saddling  my  donkey,  started  for 
Schenectady,  seventeen  miles  away. 

People  had  cautioned  me  that  donkeys  were  afraid  of 
snow.  I  was  most  agreeably  surprised  to  find  Mac 
A'Rony  an  exception  to  the  rule;  but  in  another  respect, 
he  puzzled  me  very  much.  For  five  days  he  had  not  been 
known  to  drink,  and  I  concluded  that,  like  an  orchid,  he 
slaked  his  thirst  by  sucking  the  juice  out  of  the  atmos- 
phere. When  I  ushered  him  into  the  snow,  he  rubbed  his 
nose  in  it,  and  tasted  it  to  satisfy  himself  that  it  wasn't 
sugar,  and  then  majestically  waded  through,  as  if  it  were 
so  much  dust. 

And  so,  with  less  than  two  dollars  in  pocket  and  some 
fifty  photos  in  my  saddle-bags,  I  urged  my  donkey 
through  the  blinding  gale  to  a  road-house,  four  miles  out 
of  Albany,  where  tethering  him  to  a  huge  icicle  under  a 
low-roofed  shed,  I  went  into  the  tavern  to  toast  my  hands 
and  feet,  and  to  warm  my  inner  self. 

A  few  moments  later  found  us  fighting  the  elements 
again.  And  though  we  stopped  at  fully  a  dozen  houses  on 
that  day's  journey,  we  reached  Schenectady  soon  after 
dark,  with  my  face  black  and  blue  from  the  snowballs  Mac 
rolled  with  his  hoofs  and  slung  at  me  (he  claimed,  unin- 
tentionally). Both  of  us  were  in  prime  condition  to  ap- 
preciate a  hot  supper  and  a  soft,  warm  bed.  After  seeing 
my  comrade  safely  sheltered  in  the  hotel  barn  and  leaving 
instructions  -with  the  stable-keeper  to  lock  the  door,  I  spent 
a  pleasant  hour  with  the  other  hotel  guests,  who  gathered 
about  to  hear  my  story,  and  to  give  me  all  kinds  of 
valuable  and  worthless  advice  on  traveling  with  a  donkey. 

What  happened  that  night  may  be  better  understood  by 
reading  the  following  page  from  my  diary : 

"It  is  midnight,  halfway  between  Christmas  eve  and 

47 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

Christmas  morning.  For  the  last  three  hours  I  have  been 
looking  all  over  town  for  Mac.  I  went  to  the  stable  at 
nine  o'clock  to  fill  his  stockings,  and  lo !  he  was  missing. 
Where  he  can  possibly  be  and  how  he  got  there  is  beyond 
my  power  of  conception.  I  found  the  lock  in  the  barn 
door  unbroken,  but  scratched  about  the  keyhole,  as  if  it 
had  been  picked.  The  landlord  and  the  stableman  are 
of  the  opinion  that  Union  College  boys  have  stolen  the 
donkey  and  hidden  him,  just  for  mischief.  In  my  rambles 
I  failed  to  detect  a  sign  of  any  student.  A  squad  of  vol- 
unteers from  among  the  hotel  guests,  armed  to  the  teeth 
and  carrying  lanterns,  were  kind  enough  to  go  with  me 
donkey  hunting,  but  nothing  more  than  a  few  ominous 
traces  of  Mac's  stubborn  resistance  did  we  discover.  A 
tuft  of  donkey  hair  and  a  gory  human  tooth  were  picked 
off  the  barn  floor,  and  also,  just  outside,  a  section  of  the 
seat  of  a  man's  trousers,  all  of  which  indicates  that  the 
donkey  is  the  unwilling  prisoner  of  a  band  of  wags. 

"Going  down  Fifth  Street  to  Union,  we  detected  Mac's 
little  foot-prints  and  a  college  society  pin.  Just  beyond, 
I  found  another  lock  of  hair,  this  time  human,  indicating 
some  football  fiend  had  parted  with  a  portion  of  his  mane. 
A  torn  cravat,  a  finger  of  a  kid  glove,  and  a  piece  of  hu- 
man flesh  resembling  part  of  a  nose,  were  noted  by  differ- 
ent members  of  the  posse.  Thence  on,  we  traced  with 
much  difficulty  my  donkey's  hoof-marks  a  mile  or  more 
into  the  suburbs,  where  we  lost  them.  It  was  then  1 1 130 
P.  M.  A  concensus  of  opinion  resulted  in  the  verdict  that 
at  that  point  the  animal  had  been  put  in  a  sleigh  and 
drawn  to  some  hiding  place  and  that  further  search  that 
night  was  useless.  I  am  now  going  to  retire,  and  trust 
to  luck  for  Mac  A'Rony's  safe  return  to-morrow." 

When  I  went  to  breakfast  Christmas  morning,  I  amused 
myself  while  my  order  was  being  filled  by  perusing  the 

48 


THE   DONKEY    ON    SKATES 

Schenectady  "Daily  Tantrims."     You  may  imagine  my 
astonishment  upon  reading  the  following: 

GRAND  OPENING 

Of  the  Canal  Skating  Rink. 

Greatest  Social  Function  of  the  Season. 

COLLEGE  BOYS  AND  SOCIETY  THERE. 

A  Donkey  on  Skates. 

"Those  who  were  not  'let  in'  to  the  private  ball  given  at 
the  new  Canal  Ice  Rink  on  Christmas  Eve  by  the  Union 
boys  who  remained  here  over  night  to  enjoy  the  Holi- 
days, missed  a  rare  and  novel  entertainment.  It  proved 
to  be  a  side-splitting  as  well  as  an  ice-breaking  affair. 
Carefully  laid  plans  were  successfully  carried  out,  and  the 
diminutive  donkey  belonging  to  the  quixotic  traveler, 
Prof.  Pythagoras  Pod,  became  the  guest  of  honor  at  the 
first  rink  party  of  the  season.  The  jackass  seemed  to  rel- 
ish the  sport  immensely.  Two  pairs  of  skates  were  se- 
curely buckled  on  his  feet  and,  declining  the  proffered  as- 
sistance, at  once  the  precocious  tyro  struck  out  in  four 
several  directions  at  once,  coming  down  on  the  not  over 
thick  ice  kothump!  on  his  Antartic  pole,  deluging  four 
propositions  of  Euclid,  seven  principles  of  unnatural  phi- 
losophy, and  three  dozen  young  men  and  women. 

All  would  have  gone  well  had  the  jack  not  been  so  con- 
ceited. He,  just  like  an  ass,  thought  he  knew  it  all.  If 
he  ever  cut  any  ice  in  his  life  he  did  it  them.  Being  of  a 
generous  disposition,  he  made  ample  accommodations  for 
a  crowd  who,  like  his  asinine  self,  came  out  for  a  skate 
and  were  hardly  prepared  for  a  baptism. 

Pandemonium  reigned.  There  were  several  narrow  es- 
capes from  drowning ;  even  Mac  A'Rony  barely  averted  a 
sublime  decease,  and  bellowed  like  a  freight  engine. 

49 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

However,  as  he  was  the  only  donkey  of  the  whole  party 
that  piloted  himself  to  terra  firma  without  assistance,  he 
deserves  much  more  praise  than  the  fools  that  were  so  un- 
warrantably thoughtless  as  to  imperil  a  hundred  precious 
lives  in  their  selfishness  to  have  a  good  time  at  the  ex- 
pense of  an  humble  beast. 

As  soon  as  the  panic  had  subsided,  a  new  rink  was 
cleared  further  down  the  canal,  where  the  Christmas  fete 
was  prolonged  to  a  late  hour.  The  terrified  animal  was 
here  supported  on  two  parallel  bars  held  by  strong  men ; 
and  he  promised  to  remain  upright  henceforth.  To  say 
the  least,  his  frantic  efforts  to  do  the  "pigeon  wing"  on 
the  star-spangled  firmament  nearly  capsized  his  pall-bear- 
ers. Guards  had  been  posted  at  various  points  to  apprise 
the  practical  jokers,  if  the  donkey's  master  should  come 
uninvited  on  the  scene,  but  it  seems  that,  by  crafty,  foxy 
methods,  the  Professor  had  been  led  by  false  scent  to  the 
suburbs.  So  the  fun  continued. 

After  the  ball  was  over,  Mac  A'Rony  was  returned  in 
safety  to  his  stall.  The  little  fellow  appeared  to  be  the 
nimbler  from  his  cold-water  plunge,  and  was  so  elated 
over  his  extraordinary  exploits  that  he  brayed  all  the  way 
to  his  quarters." 

As  soon  as  I  heard  Mac  I  rushed  out  to  the  barn  bare- 
headed, and  threw  my  arms  round  his  neck.  I  found 
the  little  fellow  joyously  rummaging  in  four  huge  stock- 
ings filled  with  corn  bread,  molasses  cake,  mince  pie,  car- 
rots, and  apple-sauce.  "I  had  a  h — 1  of  a  time  last  night," 
was  all  he  said. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Christmas  day  is  a  merry  day 

For  all  good  lads  and  lassies, 
But  dull  and  lorn  for  th'  fellow  born 

To  ride  or  drive  jackasses. 

— Old  Song. 

Yuletide  afforded  me  few  pleasures.  How  I  was  to 
bridge  the  gulf  of  penury  and  want  of  the  Holiday  season 
caused  me  much  concern.  Lacking  the  funds  to  pay  my 
hotel  and  stable  bills,  I  canvassed  the  town  and  sold  a  few 
pictures  before  church  time.  I  wished  to  attend  Christ- 
mas service,  but  lacked  the  nerve.  My  grotesque  attire 
might  have  inspired  the  preacher. 

I  had  worn  holes  in  all  my  socks,  and  not  having  the 
price  of  a  new  pair,  retired  to  my  room  to  darn  them.  It 
was  the  first  darning  of  that  sort  I  ever  did ;  when  I  had 
finished,  I  darned  my  luck,  the  hard  times,  and  many 
things  not  down  on  the  calendar.  I  pictured  to  my  mind's 
eye  the  pleasures  of  Christmastide,  of  which  I  had  cheated 
myself;  but  it  was  no  time  to  brood  over  might-have- 
beens.  I  would  start  for  the  next  town  that  morning.  I 
felt  a  constant  anxiety  for  Mac  A'Rony's  safety,  and 
shouldn't  feel  easy  until  we  were  out  of  the  college  dis- 
trict. 

We  reached  Amsterdam  in  time  for  Christmas  dinner. 
I  will  not  give  the  bill  of  fare ;  it  wouldn't  whet  your  ap- 
petite. The  following  day  was  almost  as  dull  as  Christ- 
mas. In  the  morning  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  receive 
in  advance  two  dollars  for  distributing  calendars  to  the 

51 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

farmers  on  my  way  to  the  next  town,  and  employed  the 
afternoon  repairing  saddle-bags. 

The  snow  lay  deep,  the  weather  was  windy  and  chill, 
and  my  donkey  slower  than  axle  grease ;  so  I  tarried  over 
night  and  heard  Sabbath  bells. 

Sunday  evening  saw  us  comfortably  quartered  in  the 
little  village  of  Fonda,  a  few  miles'  journey.  While  sup- 
ping I  learned  that  a  German  newspaper  reporter,  who 
claimed  to  be  walking  across  the  continent  on  a  $750 
wager,  was  a  guest  at  another  hotel.  He  came  into  town 
shortly  after  dark,  and,  unable  to  pay  for  a  bed,  was  per- 
mitted to  sleep  on  a  bench,  where  my  informant  saw  him. 
By  the  terms  of  his  bet,  the  fellow  was  not  allowed  to  beg, 
but  could  accept  the  earth,  if  offered  him. 

My  sympathies  were  aroused,  and  I  called  on  him  after 
supper.  He  told  his  story,  showed  me  papers,  and  a  book 
signed  by  the  railroad  station  agents  on  his  route — for  he 
had  "hit  the  ties"  all  the  way — and  expressed  much  anx- 
iety about  covering  the  remaining  184  miles  to  New  York 
in  six  days. 

The  young  man  looked  emaciated,  his  shoes  were  liter- 
ally worn  out.  His  one  meal  that  day  had  been  a  cup  of 
coffee  and  a  roll.  He  hadn't  slept  in  a  bed  since  leaving 
Detroit,  where  he  earned  his  last  money,  five  dollars. 
Pod's  tender  heart  was  touched.  Although  the  more  af- 
fluent donkey  traveler  possessed  but  a  dollar  and  sixty 
cents,  he  gave  his  brother  globe-trotter  a  dollar,  a  hot 
supper  and  bed,  and  would  have  paid  for  a  stimulating 
drink  had  not  the  hotel-keeper  been  inspired  to  treat  the 
two. 

Next  morning  some  commercial  travelers,  having 
learned  of  Pod's  generosity,  purchased  a  pair  of  shoes  for 
the  pedestrian.  The  delighted  fellow  departed  at  an  early 

52 


MAC    HELD    FOR    RANSOM 

hour,  expressing  his  sanguine  belief  that  he  would  win 
his  wager. 

I  had  to  hustle  that  morning  to  settle  accounts,  and  it 
was  eleven  o'clock  before  Mac  and  I  departed.  I  had 
only  a  nickel  in  pocket.  That  day  we  both  went  without 
lunch.  It  was  long  after  dark  and  past  supper  time  when 
we  arrived  in  Fort  Plain,  and  a  half  hour  later  before  we 
reached  the  hotel.  The  town  was  illuminated  with  elec- 
tric arc  lights,  which  always  throw  vivid  shadows,  and 
Mac  A'Rony  had  a  desperate  encounter  with  another 
donkey  in  the  snow.  He  reared,  and  pitched,  and 
cavorted,  and  bolted ;  he  wound  me  up  in  the  reins,  and 
then  bunked  into  me — I  was  in  his  way  all  the  time — and 
finally  rushed  down  a  side  street,  dragging  me  after  him. 
I  had  to  lead  the  rampant  animal  through  several  un- 
lighted  streets  round  the  village  to  get  him  to  the  stable. 
It  was  the  first  time  I  had  presented  myself  at  a  strange 
hotel  without  my  asinine  credentials.  When  I  registered, 
the  incredulous  proprietor  went  to  the  barn  for  Mac's  own 
statement  before  believing  me  the  famous  man  I  claimed 
to  be. 

That  evening  a  committee  from  the  Bohemian  Club  in- 
vited me  to  a  concert  given  under  the  auspices  of  the 
Fort  Plain  Band.  I  went,  and  enjoyed  it.  At  its  conclu- 
sion, I  was  asked  to  talk  to  a  phonograph,  the  invention 
of  the  president  of  the  Club.  Having  once  addressed  an 
audience  of  chairs,  I  could  not  object  to  talk  to  a  funnel. 
I  addressed  the  emptiness  thereof  with  all  the  eloquence  I 
could  muster,  then  listened  while  the  phonograph  tried  to 
repeat  my  words.  It  was  simply  awful.  Had  the  ma- 
chine been  togged  out  in  night  shirt,  mask  and  lighted 
candle,  and  shot  off  such  a  lingo  in  a  dark  alley,  I  should 
have  thought  it  my  own  spook  and  fled  in  terror. 

When  I  reached  Little  Falls  my  stock  of  photos  was 

53 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

exhausted,  and,  but  for  a  stroke  of  good  luck,  I  fear  I 
could  not  have  paid  my  bills.  Mac  A'Rony  agreed  to 
carry  a  sign  extolling  the  virtues  of  a  one-price  clothier, 
and  that  brought  us  a  few  dollars,  which  we  divided. 

It  was  late  when  we  started  for  Herkimer,  a  town 
twelve  miles  away.  The  mud  greatly  impeded  our  prog- 
ress and,  suddenly,  just  before  dark,  when  five  miles  to 
town,  we  came  to  a  long,  covered,  wooden  bridge.  Then 
there  was  trouble.  Mac  obstinately  refused  to  enter  the 
dark  tunnel.  I  coaxed  him  with  an  apple  to  follow  me ;  I 
prodded  him ;  I  turned  him  about  and  tried  to  back  him 
through;  but  he  would  not  budge.  I  went  behind  and 
pushed  him ;  and  vexed  beyond  reason,  I  finally  whipped 
him;  all  without  avail.  What  could  I  do?  I  sat  down 
and  thought.  No  sound  of  an  approaching  vehicle  greet- 
ed my  ear,  but  I  saw  a  house  down  the  road.  I  decided 
to  hitch  my  obdurate  beast  to  the  fence  and  seek  assist- 
ance. As  I  approached  the  house  the  seductive  aroma  of 
frying  steak  told  me  it  was  supper  hour.  In  response  to 
my  knock  a  rural-looking  man  came  out  and  eyed  me 
curiously,  while  chewing  vigorously.  Indoors  I  could 
hear  somebody  drinking  out  of  a  saucer. 

"Excuse  me  for  interrupting,"  I  said  politely ;  "but  my 
jackass " 

"Yer  what?" 

"My  jackass!  I  am  bound  for  California  with  one, 
and  am  stuck  out  there  by  the  bridge.  I  came  to  ask  your 
assistance."  The  man  swallowed. 

"In  a  hole,  eh?  Wall,  I  reckon  you've  come  ter  th' 
right  place  fer  help." 

"No,  I'm  not  in  a  hole  exactly — that's  just  the  trouble. 
My  animal  abhors  holes ;  he  refuses  to  enter  the  covered 
bridge." 

54 


MAC    HELD    FOR    RANSOM 

"Wall,  I  swan!  can't  yer  lick  him  through?"  the  far- 
mer asked. 

"As  impossible,"  said  I,  "as  to  lick  a  camel  through  the 
eye  of  a  needle." 

"I  want  ter  know.  Come  in,"  he  said ;  and  turning  to 
the  hired  man,  added,  "John,  let's  give  th'  feller  a  lift." 

The  men  donned  wraps  and  boots,  and,  with  an  old 
wheelbarrow,  followed  me  down  the  slushy  road  to  the 
beastly  eye-sore  of  my  existence. 

To  describe  our  efforts  to  get  that  donkey  through  the 
bridge  would  tire  you  as  much  as  those  efforts  tired  me. 
Mac  squirmed  and  kicked  and  bit ;  he  would  not  be  car- 
ried by  hand;  so  the  wheelbarrow  was  employed.  He 
was  too  large  for  the  vehicle,  and  lapped  over  the  edges. 
We  consumed  a  half  hour  in  the  gigantic  task  of  wheeling 
Mac  across  that  bridge. 

"By  gum,  young  feller !"  exclaimed  the  exhausted  far- 
mer, as  he  dropped  the  heavy  live  weight.  "Do  yer  haster 
go  through  this  kind  of  business  every  bridge  yer  come 
ter?"  I  explained  that  I  usually  met  with  difficulties  at 
bridges,  but  had  never  encountered  a  covered  one  before. 
Then  I  thanked  the  good  Samaritans  for  their  kindness, 
and  prodded  Mac  to  town. 

We  arrived  in  Herkimer  late.  Directly  after  supper  I 
canvassed  the  stores,  and  worked  till  ten  o'clock  selling 
pictures. 

We  seemed  to  create  quite  a  sensation.  When  about  to 
retire,  I  learned  that  my  donkey  was  stolen;  I  was  told 
local  bandits  held  him  for  ransom.  I  was  greatly  pro- 
voked, and  rushed  about  the  streets,  making  inquiries  un- 
til, at  length,  a  street  loafer  whispered  that  he  would  tell 
me  where  my  animal  was,  if  I  "would  blow  him  to  a 
drink."  I  agreed.  Then  the  man  "in  the  know"  piloted 
me  to  a  bar-room  several  blocks  away,  where  I  'was  aston- 

55 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

ished  to  find  the  captive  drinking  with  several  other  jack- 
asses. He  was  the  only  one  not  disconcerted  by  my  ap- 
pearance, and  even  had  the  audacity  to  stick  his  nose  up 
at  the  bar-keeper  and  bray. 

I  engaged  men  to  assist  me  convey  the  inebriate  to  the 
stable  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  ordered  an  extra  pad- 
lock to  be  snapped  on  the  door.  Next  morning  I  found 
my  partner  in  a  surprisingly  sober  condition. 

Resuming  my  pilgrimage,  I  made  brief  stops  at  Ilion 
and  Frankfort,  and  arrived  in  Utica  shortly  after  dark  on 
the  last  day  of  the  leap  year.  The  hotel  corridors 
swarmed  with  inquisitive  guests  who  had  been  apprised 
of  my  coming.  The  jovial  proprietor  gave  us  a  hearty 
welcome,  and,  ordering  several  porters  to  lead  Mac  into 
the  office,  called  loudly,  to  the  amusement  of  all,  "Front ! 
Give  the  donkeys  the  best  double  room  in  the  house." 

"Slow  traveling  for  a  leap  year,"  I  remarked  to  the 
clerk. 

"Oh,  that  reminds  me,  Mr.  Pod,"  said  he;  "here's  a 
letter  for  you — just  came  a  few  minutes  ago." 

I  settled  my  weary  frame  in  a  rocker  and  read  it.  It 
was  actually  an  invitation  to  a  Leap  Year  Ball,  given  un- 
der the  auspices  of  the  society  girls  of  Manicure  Hall. 
The  card  was  printed,  but  on  its  margin  were  inscribed 
in  a  purely  feminine  hand  a  few  choice  words  urging  me 
to  come  in  my  traveling  habit.  It  struck  me  that  it  might 
be  my  only  chance  to  get  engaged  for  eight  long  years,  so 
I  washed  and  brushed  and  polished,  and  turned  up  at  the 
ball-room  at  a  late  but  nevertheless  fashionable  hour. 

The  ball  was  the  most  brilliant  function  it  had  been  my 
pleasure  to  attend  since  the  days  of  my  freedom.  Caesar ! 
what  charming  girls !  Were  they  really  charming !  or  was 
it  because  I  had  been  a  recluse  so  long  that  most  any- 
body wearing  dresses  fascinated  my  starved  optics  ?  Be- 

56 


MAC    HELD    FOR    RANSOM 

fore  advancing  a  rod  into  the  hall,  I  received  a  proposal ; 
within  an  hour  I  had  a  dozen.  The  dance,  the  supper,  the 
defective  lights,  and  the  kisses  in  the  dark,  the  midnight 
alarm,  and  the  New  Year's  bells,  all  fulfilled  their  offices 
delightfully  in  turn — all,  except  the  leave-taking  of  the 
old  year,  which  groaned  over  the  effects  of  bad  salad,  and 
gave  up  the  ghost. 

I  devoted  the  afternoon  to  a  delightful  nap ;  I  was  worn 
out.  Saturday  I  called  upon  the  genial  Mayor,  who  paid 
me  liberally  for  a  photo  and  subscribed  to  my  donkey 
book.  Sunday  I  set  out  with  Mac  for  Rome. 

I  was  told  all  the  roads  were  in  bad  condition,  and  was 
advised  to  take  the  tow-path  of  the  Erie  Canal.  After 
two  hours  of  tramping  and  groping  in  the  darkness,  we 
came  to  a  suburban  street ;  soon  after  I  was  directed  to  a 
tavern,  and  quartered  myself  for  the  night. 

A  number  of  commercial  men  had  prophesied  I  would 
not  make  my  expenses  in  Rome,  but  I  did.  It  was  an  all- 
day  job,  however,  and  another  night  was  fairly  upon  me 
before  I  started  for  Oneida,  sixteen  miles  away. 

We  had  not  gone  far,  when  we  came  to  an  old-fashioned 
toll-gate,  where  I  expected  to  be  made  to  contribute  to 
the  county's  good-road  fund.  I  felt  loath  to  do  so,  for 
nowhere  else  on  my  journey  had  we  found  the  highway 
in  such  a  disreputable  condition.  I  told  Mac  to  keep  his 
mouth  shut,  and  we  stealthily  walked  through  the  gate, 
hoping  not  to  be  observed ;  but  no  sooner  done  than  the 
keeper  issued  from  his  shanty  and  welcomed  me  back. 
He  wished  to  talk  with  me,  he  said.  His  boy  had  pre- 
ceded me  from  town  and  given  his  father  glowing  ac- 
counts of  the  donkey  traveler.  So  interested  were  the 
toll-gate  keeper  and  his  family  in  the  welfare  of  Pod  and 
Mac  that  they  not  only  waived  the  toll,  but  gave  us  a  press- 
ing invitation  to  remain  with  them  over  night.  The  gener- 

57 


ON  A  DONKEY'S   HURRICANE  DECK 

osity  of  that  man's  big,  honest  heart  stood  out  in  such  happy 
contrast  with  the  miserly  county  administration  and  my 
own  penury  that  I  gratified  the  man's  desire,  in  a  meas- 
ure, and  hitching  Mac  A'Rony,  followed  my  host  into 
his  dwelling,  where  I  allowed  myself  to  share  his  frugal 
board.  It  was  certainly  such  a  home  where  either  a  Don 
Quixote  or  a  Pythagoras  Pod  might  feel  himself  a  dis- 
tinguished guest.  The  wife  brewed  tea,  and  spread  the 
table  with  black  bread  and  doubtfully  wholesome  cakes, 
while  the  children  climbed  on  my  knees  and  heard  with 
rapture  my  tales  of  adventure. 

When  it  was  time  to  go  the  keeper,  having  learned  from 
his  son  that  I  sold  the  pictures  "to  live  on,"  begged  me 
with  tears  to  accept  a  quarter  for  the  one  I  gave  him,  say- 
ing that  he  had  a  fair-sized  garden  besides  the  pittance  he 
received  for  performing  the  duties  of  his  humble  office, 
whereas  I  had  to  depend  on  Providence  for  the  keeping  of 
myself  and  comrade  on  our  long  trip  "round  the  world." 

So  Mac  and  I,  thanking  the  good  people  for  their  kind- 
nesses— for  Mac's  ever-acute  appetite  had  not  been  over- 
looked by  the  thoughtful  hostess — strode  on  in  mud  and 
darkness,  slipping,  spattering,  and  mumbling  unintel- 
ligible and  impolite  words,  and  hoping  against  hope  soon 
to  arrive  at  some  comfortable  haven  of  rest. 

A  mile  beyond  we  were  greeted  with  loud  applause  is- 
suing from  a  huge  building  to  our  left,  which  I  took  to  be 
a  girl's  seminary,  but  which  Mac  insisted  was  a  slaughter 
house.  To  be  distinguished  in  the  dark  and  tendered  such 
an  ovation  quite  tickled  my  vanity ;  but  my  less-conceited 
partner  only  brayed  and  trembled  in  the  fear  of  being 
chased  by  a  mad  pig  with  its  throat  cut.  When  we  had 
passed  to  a  safe  distance,  I  met  a  farmer  in  a  wagon,  and 
asked  him  the  name  of  the  illuminated  building. 

"The  Rome  State  Insane  Asylum,"  said  the  man. 

58 


MAC    HELD    FOR    RANSOM 

At  length,  a  dense  mist  gathered;  then  it  began  to 
sprinkle.  I  could  scarcely  distinguish  Mac  in  the  dark- 
ness. The  road  was  tortuous,  one  vast  river  bed  of  mud, 
as  untenable  as  quicksand.  We  first  ran  against  a  barbed- 
wire  fence  on  one  side,  and  a  rail  fence  on  the  other,  and 
finally,  I  plunged  over  boot-tops  in  a  sluice,  and  might 
have  drowned  had  I  not  held  the  reins  and  been  pulled  out 
by  my  unintentionally  heroic  comrade.  My  boots  were 
new  and  didn't  leak,  and  the  mud  and  water  remained 
in  them. 

If  ever  there  was  a  moment  on  that  overland  "voyage" 
when  I  felt  in  prime  condition  to  give  it  up,  it  was  there 
and  then.  Still  we  struggled  onward,  and  a  few  hundred 
yards  ahead  I  discovered  the  faint  light  of  a  farm  house, 
where  I  stopped  to  ask  the  distance  to  the  next  place  we 
could  secure  shelter. 

"  'Bout  four  mile,  I  should  jedge,"  said  the  farmer.  I 
guessed  as  much,  but  it  gave  me  a  chance  to  sigh. 

"Mercy!  None  nearer?"  Just  then  Mac  coughed,  and 
approached. 

"Nope.  But  wait!  Be  you  the  gentleman  bound  fer 
'Frisco  with  a  mule  ?" 

"Verily  so,"  I  returned,  while  my  partner  brayed  in- 
dignantly at  being  called  a  mule. 

"Wall,  what's  it  wuth  to  take  you  both  in  fer  the  night 
and  feed  ye?"  the  man  asked,  avariciously. 

"Oh,  about  seventy-five  cents." 

"Come  back,"  said  he ;  "I  just  walked  from  the  railroad 
station  a  mile  and  a  half  in  the  mud,  and  lost  my  over- 
shoes, and  kin  sympathize  with  ye." 

My  donkey  was  comfortably  stabled,  watered  and  fed, 
and  I  ushered  into  a  cozy  room,  where  my  host  brought 
me  dry  garments  and  slippers,  and  gave  me  a  hot  supper. 
Truly,  I  thought,  the  darkest  hour  is  just  before  dawn. 

59 


CHAPTER  VII. 

I  pass  like  night  from  land  to  land, 

I  have  strange  power  of  speech ; 
So  soon  as  e'er  his  face  I  see, 
I  know  the  man  that  must  hear  me, 

To  him  my  tale  I  teach. 

— Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner. 

Having  the  funds  to  tide  over  a  couple  of  days,  I  set 
out  early  next  morning  for  Syracuse.  At  1 1  :oo  P.  M.  we 
tramped  tired  and  foot-sore  into  the  village  of  Fayetteville, 
having  traveled  twenty  miles,  the  longest  day's  journey 
yet  made. 

My  donkey  was  fagged  out.  The  stable  men  could 
hardly  get  him  into  his  stall ;  but  Mac  had  great  recupera- 
tive power,  and  was  so  frisky  in  the  morning  that  we  re- 
sumed the  march  to  the  Salt  City.  It  was  still  some  dis- 
tance to  the  city  when  an  incident  happened  to  mar 
the  pleasure  of  our  peaceful  walk.  In  passing  a  large 
dairy  farm,  Mac's  grotesque  figure  excited  either  the  ad- 
miration or  the  contempt  of  an  ugly-looking  bull,  which 
left  a  small  bunch  of  cattle  in  the  field  and  trotted  along 
the  dilapidated  fence.  His  actions  were  frightfully  men- 
acing, and  I  urged  Mac  to  a  faster  gait.  Suddenly  the 
bull  broke  through  the  fence,  bellowing,  and  made  for  us, 
head  down. 

My  first  thought  was  to  save  Mac's  life.  The  leather- 
rimmed  goggles  he  wore  placed  him  at  a  disadvantage, 
aside  from  the  fact  that  the  road  was  icy  and  denied  us 
a  secure  footing.  Then,  too,  Mac  carried  seventy-five 

60 


I    MOP    THE   HOTEL   FLOOR 

pounds  burden,  including  my  grip,  the  saddle  and  rifle.  I 
was  wholly  unprepared  for  the  bull ;  my  revolver  was  un- 
loaded, I  having  made  it  a  rule  to  withdraw  the  cart- 
ridges every  morning.  As  the  brute  lunged  at  my  donkey, 
I  struck  Mac  with  my  whip  and  wheeled  him  about  with 
the  reins  in  time  to  dodge  the  enemy.  Recovering  him- 
self, the  enraged  bull  made  another  lunge  at  my  spry 
partner,  and  still  another,  the  third  time  scraping  off  a 
tuft  of  hair  with  one  of  his  horns.  I  could  only  assist 
Mac  with  the  reins  while  striking  the  bull  over  the  face 
with  the  cutting  rawhide.  I  yelled  for  help.  A  quarter 
mile  away  stood  a  farm  house,  and  in  front  of  it  two  men 
gawking  at  our  "circus,"  indifferent  to  our  peril. 

I  never  was  more  active  than  during  those  awful  mo- 
ments; Mac  afterward  said  he  never  was  so  busy  in  all 
his  life.  So  rapidly  did  we  three  pirouette,  the  bull  after 
Mac,  the  donkey  after  me,  and  I  after  the  bull,  that  the 
two  human  statues  in  the  distance  must  have  taxed  their 
optics  to  distinguish  which  was  which.  So  dizzy  did  I 
become  that  I  wheeled  Mac  round  and  started  in  the  op- 
posite direction,  the  enemy  bellowing,  I  calling,  and  the 
donkey  braying  to  beat  a  fire-boat  whistle.  Finally,  I 
heard  the  glad  sound  of  approaching  wheels  from  up  the 
road,  and  at  a  glance  saw  a  horse  and  buggy.  As  it  came 
nearer,  I  distinguished  a  woman  driving,  and  my  heart 
sank.  Surely  she  would  not  have  the  courage  to  venture 
into  our  very  midst;  she  must  soon  turn  round.  A  man 
might  drive  to  our  aid. 

Still  we  three  kept  busy,  until  the  rig  wheeled  down 
upon  us,  the  prancing  horse  so  distracting  the  bull  that  he 
shied  to  the  opposite  side,  and,  forgetting  us,  set  out  on 
a  trot  after  the  receding  vehicle,  lowing  vexatiously.  I 
held  my  breath.  Soon  we  collected  our  senses  and  hustled 
on  until  the  enemy  was  lost  to  view.  There  are  many 

61 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

who  would  call  our  rescue  a  marvel ;  Mac  said  it  was  just 
our  "luck ;"  but  I  thought  it  miraculous. 

A  prominent  hotel  in  Syracuse  welcomed  me  as  its  hon- 
ored guest,  and  crowds  cheered  us  to  the  door.  I  had 
consumed  six  weeks  traveling  from  New  York,  a  distance 
of  340  miles,  although  by  rail  the  mileage  shrinks  to  303. 

It  was  Friday,  January  8.  I  was  tendered  a  private 
box  at  the  theatre  that  evening,  and  the  following  day 
Mac  and  I  appeared  on  the  stage  between  acts,  at  both  the 
matinee  and  evening  performances,  I  receiving  five  dollars 
for  each  appearance.  'Saturday  I  devoted  to  business; 
and  was  invited  to  the  Elks'  entertainment  in  the  evening. 
At  noon  on  Monday  we  headed  for  Auburn. 

A  heavy  snow  accompanied  a  fall  of  the  mercury. 
Great  drifts  had  formed  during  the  night,  reaching  any- 
where from  inches  to  feet,  and  from  yard  to  yard.  My 
spirits  were  low.  The  first  eight  miles  to  Camillus  were 
covered  in  four  hours.  After  a  good  rest  and  poor  fod- 
der, we  strode  on  over  the  white  and  solitary  road  seven 
more  miles  to  Elbridge,  where,  at  eight  o'clock,  I  regis- 
tered at  a  cozy  hostelry,  and  ordered  that  Mac  be  cared 
for  and  my  supper  at  once  be  prepared.  Then  I  hastened 
to  canvass  the  stores,  disposing  of  three  photos  at  fifteen 
cents  apiece.  My  over-night  expenses  would  be  a  dollar 
and  a  half ;  I  lacked  forty-five  cents  of  the  amount.  But 
that  did  not  disconcert  me.  The  hotel  was  composed  of 
bricks,  and  its  proprietor  was  one  of  them :  a  jovial  Grand 
Army  man  who  wore  a  big  soft  hat,  and  a  blue  coat  with 
brass  buttons.  His  cranium  was  chock  full  of  entertain- 
ing reminiscence,  too. 

At  that  time,  men  were  engaged  with  mule-teams  haul- 
ing stone  for  repairing  the  canal,  and  the  hotel  was  filled 
with  an  incongruous  lot  of  teamsters  and  laborers.  Judg- 
ing by  their  roguish  remarks,  it  would  be  wise  of  me  to 

62 


I    MOP    THE    HOTEL    FLOOR 

place  my  donkey  under  lock  and  key;  but  when  I  hinted 
it  to  my  host,  he  assured  me  my  fears  were  unwarranted. 

I  was  assigned  a  large  chamber  on  the  main  floor,  next 
to  the  dining  room.  There  was  no  lock  to  the  door;  I 
complained  about  it.  "Nobody  will  molest  you,"  said  my 
host.  I  soon  fell  to  sleep.  Long  before  daylight  I  was 
awakened  by  the  juggling  of  plates  and  cutlery,  and  the 
racking  of  a  stove.  It  was  impossible  to  sleep  during 
such  a  hubub,  so  I  proposed  to  smoke.  Rising  from  bed 
and  groping  in  darkness,  I  hunted  for  the  electric  light 
button  hanging  from  the  ceiling,  but  had  proceeded  only 
a  few  steps  when,  suddenly,  I  fell  headlong  over  a  huge, 
hairy  substance,  which  moved  and  yawned. 

Hamlet's  ghost!  Was  this  really  midwinter's  night 
dream  ?  I  sat  on  the  floor  for  a  moment  to  set  my  dislo- 
cated big  toe  on  the  off  foot,  then  staggered  timorously  to 
my  feet,  found  the  cord,  and  turned  on  the  light.  Could 
I  believe  my  eyes?  There  lay  Mac  A'Rony.  He  gazed 
at  me  in  mute  bewilderment  and  blinked  like  an  owl,  then 
presently  rose  to  the  occasion,  brayed,  and  charged  at  the 
donkey  in  the  mirror.  It  was  enough  to  awaken  the  whole 
village  when  the  excited  animal  rushed  around  the  room 
with  the  mirror  frame  for  a  collar,  vaulting  chairs,  bed, 
and  table,  and  exerting  his  best  efforts  to  kick  holes  in  the 
walls  and  ceiling. 

"What  in  damnation  is  the  racket !"  yelled  the  proprie- 
tor, as  he  came  running  to  my  room.  I  thought  to. disarm 
him  by  being  the  first  to  complain,  for  I  expected  some 
harsh  invectives  to  be  hurled  my  way. 

"You  said  I  should  not  be  molested !"  I  said  indignant- 
ly, standing  on  a  mantle  shelf  in  my  night  shirt. 

"Well!  It's  the  first  time  my  house  was  ever  turned 
into  a  stable,"  retorted  the  erstwhile  jovial  Grand  Army 
man. 

63 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

"And  it's  the  first  time  I  ever  was  made  to  room  with  a 
jackass,"  I  returned,  in  a  rage. 

By  this  time  Mac  had  stuck  a  foot  in  the  frame-collar 
in  trying  to  clear  the  stove,  and  had  fallen.  I  quickly 
leaped  from  my  perch,  and  my  now  more  conciliating  host 
helped  to  disengage  the  beast  from  his  wooden  harness, 
and  give  him  a  forcible  exit.  Then  we  dressed,  and  set 
to  work  clearing  the  room.  Of  course,  the  cook  rushed 
in  to  have  her  say ;  otherwise,  that  hotel  was  suspiciously 
quiet,  considering  what  had  happened. 

When  I  went  to  breakfast  the  landlord  met  me  with  a 
smile ;  it  surprised  and  pleased  me.  I  concluded  that  the 
practical  jokers  had  settled  everything  to  his  satisfaction. 
My  table  mates  were  unusually  uncommunicative;  their 
conversation  hung  mournfully  on  the  weather.  My  break- 
fast finished,  I  went  to  my  host  and  informed  him  of  the 
state  of  my  finances. 

"Two  mule-drivers  were  discharged  last  night,"  he  ob- 
served. "I  could  have  got  you  a  job  if  you  had  told  me 
in  time." 

Right  here  an  aged  townsman  came  in,  stamping  the 
snow  off  his  boots,  unwound  a  great  tippet  from  his  neck, 
and  regarding  the  clay-besmeared  floor,  delivered  his 
opinion  to  the  landlord. 

"Gol  blast  me !  If  I  run  a  house  a  lookin'  like  this,  I'd 
close  up  and  go  out  of  the  business,"  the  granger  re- 
marked, with  a  critical  eye  to  the  floor  and  a  wink  at  me. 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  I ;  "Price  ought  to  pay  a  quar- 
ter to  have  the  floor  cleaned. 

"It  would  be  worth  twice  that  sum  to  me  to  see  you 
clean  it,"  he  returned,  humorously. 

"It's  a  bargain !"  so  saying,  I  pulled  off  my  coat,  and 
called  for  a  mop  and  a  pail  of  hot  water. 

The  landlord  seemed  to  regard  the  incident  as  a  good 

64 


I    MOP    THE    HOTEL    FLOOR 

joke;  so  did  Pye  Pod.  Rolling  up  my  trousers  and  shirt 
sleeves,  I  fell  to  work.  The  old  man  fled  to  spread  the 
news,  as  soon  as  he  saw  I  was  in  earnest.  My  first  sweep 
with  the  old  mop  shattered  it;  the  landlord  lost  no  time 
procuring  a  new  one.  Then  I  went  at  it  as  though  it  were 
my  special  line  of  trade,  and  so  deeply  absorbed  was  I  in 
the  novel  undertaking  that  less  than  half  of  the  population 
of  the  village  filed  into  the  room  without  my  comment. 
There  were  men  and  women,  young  and  old  and  middling, 
and  children  bound  for  school;  all  around,  backing 
against  the  walls  and  windows,  commenting,  laughing, 
and  joking;  while  I  just  mopped,  and  with  new  jokes 
helped  make  merry,  for  I  felt  that  was  an  experience  of  a 
lifetime  for  all  of  us. 

A  pretty  girl  snapped  a  kodak  at  me;  she  took  fifteen 
orders  for  pictures  within  a  minute.  I  was  gratified  to 
see  all  enjoy  themselves.  Still  I  kept  mopping,  and 
watched  the  clock  to  see  how  much  time  was  left  before 
school.  My  time  was  coming ;  I  wanted  everybody  to  hear 
my  story.  They  didn't  know  a  thing  about  me  or  Mac 
A'Rony,  except  through  newspaper  reports,  which  are  not 
always  reliable.  Finally,  I  dropped  my  mop  and  straight- 
ened up  to  rest  my  lame  back. 

"Does  that  suit  you  ?"  I  asked  the  landlord. 

"A  handsomer  job  was  never  done  this  floor,"  said  he ; 
"you  have  earned  your  money." 

Every  one  evidently  wished  to  see  me  paid.  As  I  re- 
ceived the  cash,  I  whispered  to  my  host  to  hand  me 
the  key  to  the  door,  expressing  my  purpose  with  a  sly 
wink,  which  he  hardly  interpreted.  The  silver  jingled 
with  the  brass  in  my  hands,  and  I  went  to  the  door  and 
locked  it.  Then  walking  to  the  desk,  I  turned,  faced  my 
audience  without  a  blush,  bowed  low,  and  said : 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,   and   children  of   Elbridge;" 

65 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

then  gave  a  brief  account  of  my  travels  from  New  York. 
My  words  pleased,  and  were  greeted  with  laughter.  But 
they  had  not  heard  my  peroration. 

"We  rarely  appreciate  anything  that  costs  us  nothing," 
I  began  my  conclusion.  "In  New  York,  a  show  such  as  I 
have  just  provided  would  cost  at  least  a  dollar  and  a  half 
for  orchestra  chairs  and  fifty  cents  for  the  family  circle; 
this  seems  to  be  the  family  circle.  Now,  to  save  the  bother 
of  printing  tickets  and  posters,  we  admitted  you  to  the 
show  without  delaying  you  at  the  door  in  the  frosty  air, 
and  one  and  all,  old  and  young,  must  pay  me  five  cents 
before  you  leave  this  room.  The  door  is  locked,  and  I 
hold  the  key.  Those  of  you  ladies  who  left  your  purses  on 
the  piano  can  borrow  of  your  gentlemen  friends,  who, 
doubtless,  will  be  ready  to  help  you  out  of  your  dilemma. 
Some  of  you  may  demur,  and  complain  of  hard  times,  but 
said  excuses  will  not  hold  with  me ;  I  carry  hard  times 
with  me  whither  I  go  on  my  long  journey,  whereas  you 
have  yours  only  in  one  place.  As  soon  as  all  have  paid 
me,  the  door  will  be  unlocked,  and  not  until.  I  thank  you 
for  your  unsolicited  audience,  and  trust  that  the  next 
time  we  meet  the  circumstances  will  be  as  happy  for  us  all 
as  they  have  been  this  January  morning." 

My  speech  must  have  been  forceful,  for  the  nickels 
poured  into  my  hat.  As  each  individual  paid  I  motioned 
him  or  her  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  to  guard 
against  humbugging.  The  landlord  had  to  come  to  the 
financial  relief  of  a  few,  but  the  door  was  opened  in  time 
for  school,  and  everybody  departed  with  evident  good 
feeling. 

My  host  was  the  most  astonished  of  all,  and,  with  a 
hearty  grip  of  the  hand,  predicted  that  I  would  reach  my 
destination.  Without  delay  I  settled  my  account  with 

66 


I    MOP    THE   HOTEL   FLOOR 

him,  saddled  Mac  A'Rony,  and  with  $2.80  to  the  good 
started  for  Auburn.  The  last  denizen  of  the  village  to 
bid  me  God-speed  was  the  philanthropist  who  unwittingly 
procured  me  my  "bill"  for  the  hotel  show,  and  then  filled 
my  purse  for  me. 


67 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

An  attempted  assassination!  I  cried  in  excited  tones. 
One  of  the  boldest  ever  heard  of,  and  right  here,  too,  in 
the  shadow  of  this  palace  devoted  to  commerce  and  peace. 
— A  Soldier  of  Manhattan. 

Soon  after  reaching  Auburn,  I  received  a  theatre  man- 
ager who  called  to  engage  Mac  and  me  to  appear  at  the 
Opera  House.  We  signed  with  him,  and  the  first  evening 
we  made  such  a  decided  hit  that  we  were  engaged  for  a 
re-appearance;  I  received  ten  dollars  for  both  perform- 
ances and  the  privilege  to  sell  photos  at  the  door,  which 
netted  me  a  considerable  sum. 

Auburn  is  the  seat  of  a  State  Prison  and  a  Theological 
Seminary.  Avoiding  the  former,  I  set  out  to  visit  the 
seminary.  The  students  were  cordial,  and  showed  me 
about  the  buildings,  among  them  being  Willard  Chapel, 
which  they  called  the  handsomest  in  America. 

I  was  unable  to  leave  until  just  before  noon.  Tramping 
without  dinner  went  against  the  donkey's  grain  even  more 
literally  than  it  did  mine.  About  2  o'clock  I  was  passing 
through  Aurelius,  when  a  farmer  invited  me  to  take  lunch 
with  him.  I  accepted,  and  enjoyed  the  repast  and  the 
visit  with  the  hospitable  agriculturist  and  his  wife.  He 
gave  me  a  card  to  a  California  friend,  and  hoped  I  would 
visit  him  and  present  his  regards.  This  pleasant  delay 
upset  my  calculations ;  I  did  not  reach  Cayuga  until  dusk. 

The  lake  was  frozen,  but  the  sun  had  somewhat  melted 
the  ice  during  the  past  two  days.  I  was  cautioned  not  to 
venture  across  with  the  donkey,  for,  if  he  should  slip, 

68 


FOOTPADS    FIRE   UPON   US 

both  of  us  would  go  through  the  ice.  This  was  a  great 
disappointment,  for  it  compelled  me  to  follow  the  tow- 
path  some  five  miles  round  the  edge  of  the  lake  through 
the  dreaded  Montezuma  Swamp,  in  order  to  reach  Seneca 
Falls.  It  was  long  after  dark  when  we  left  the  swamp 
and  entered  the  shadow  of  a  rocky  ridge.  A  half  mile 
further,  I  discerned  the  distant  electric  lights  of  the  town. 
To  our  left  was  the  canal,  and  to  the  right,  the  rocky 
barrier,  while  ahead,  beside  the  tow-path,  shone  an  arc 
light  suspended  from  one  of  several  poles  which  extended 
in  a  line  to  town. 

I  was  tramping  along  at  Mac's  head  when,  suddenly,  a 
man  stepped  from  behind  the  pole  and  ordered  me  to 
throw  up  my  hands.  Although  excited,  I  still  had  the 
presence  of  mind  to  jump  behind  my  donkey.  Instantly 
the  highwayman  fired  at  me.  Then  I  fired  to  show  I  was 
armed  and  ready  to  defend  myself;  and  at  once  a  shot 
came  from  the  rocks,  a  little  to  my  rear.  Turning  my 
head,  I  saw  what  appeared  to  be  a  cave,  where  presumably 
the  second  man  was  hiding.  But  just  as  I  turned  my 
head,  a  second  shot  from  the  man  in  front  knocked  off  my 
plug  hat;  and  then  came  a  shot  from  the  rocks.  Now, 
fully  realizing  my  peril  between  two  fires,  I  aimed  my  re- 
volver at  the  man  in  the  road  some  thirty  feet  away,  and 
fired  to  cripple  him.  I  apparently  succeeded,  for  the  fel- 
low cried,  "God!  I'm  hit!"  and  fell  in  the  snow-covered 
road,  resting  on  one  elbow,  and  pressing  his  hand  to  his 
right  breast. 

Not  sure,  however,  that  the  man  was  not  feigning,  I 
shot  into  the  cave,  from  which  at  once  issued  the  other 
footpad,  who  ran  down  the  tow-path.  Then  I  picked  up 
my  hat  and  passed  by  the  prostrate  man,  keeping  my  re- 
volver trained  upon  him,  and  hurried  on  toward  Seneca 
Falls. 

69 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  I  came  to  Lock  House  No. 
6.  My  story  greatly  excited  the  quiet  household.  Hib- 
bard,  the  keeper,  with  a  lantern  helped  me  examine  Mac 
to  see  if  he  was  wounded;  then  we  were  generously 
cared  for.  After  drinking  a  cup  of  tea  and  toasting  my 
feet  awhile  at  the  fire,  I  made  my  departure. 

On  reaching  Seneca  Falls,  I  called  on  the  chief  of  po- 
lice ;  he  being  absent,  I  saw  the  Mayor,  who  told  me  that 
I  did  only  my  duty  by  shooting  in  self-defense.  Then  I 
went  back  to  the  hotel  where,  in  the  crowd  of  excited  peo- 
ple anxious  to  hear  my  story,  were  reporters  eager  to 
gather  the  facts  of  the  affair. 

Next  day  Hibbard  reported  that  at  2  o'clock  in  the 
morning  he  had  heard  a  buggy  pass  his  house  toward  the 
scene  of  the  shooting,  and,  although  he  laid  awake  until 
daylight,  did  not  hear  it  return.  He  said  it  was  the  first 
vehicle  in  years  to  traverse  the  tow-path  at  such  a  late 
hour,  and  believed  the  injured  footpad  had  been  rescued 
by  his  confederate  and  driven  away. 

After  lunch  I  left  for  Waterloo,  where  I  found  its  main 
thoroughfare  so  choked  with  people  to  see  me  that  I  could 
not  get  Mac  through.  They  hailed  me  as  a  hero,  and 
shouted  my  name  and  Mac's  until  they  were  hoarse,  and 
purchased  all  my  photographs  at  twice  the  regular  price. 
Finally,  we  resumed  our  journey,  and  arrived  in  Geneva 
long  after  dark. 

Geneva  is  the  seat  of  Hobart  College.  One  of  the  so- 
cieties invited  me  to  a  spread  at  its  fraternity  house; 
and,  while  I  was  there,  Mac  was  stolen  from  the  stable,  of 
which  I  was  not  informed  until  evening.  In  view  of  the 
fact  that  a  cow  had  recently  been  lodged  in  the  college  li- 
brary, I  shouldered  my  Winchester  and  set  out  on  the  war- 
path after  breakfast,  accompanied  by  the  Chief  of  the  Fire 
Department. 

70 


FOOTPADS    FIRE   UPON   US 

We  had  searched  the  dormitories  and  cellars  of  the  col- 
lege buildings  and  were  going  to  the  gymnasium,  when 
I  discovered  Mac  standing  in  the  snow,  eating  thistles.  It 
had  been  a  cold  and  stormy  night ;  he  was  covered  with 
snow,  and  icicles  hung  from  his  under  jaw.  Yet  the 
donkey  uttered  no  complaint,  merely  saying,  "The  boys 
didn't  do  a  thing  to  me  last  night."  I  learned  from  a  pro- 
fessor that  Mac  had  been  found  in  a  recitation  room  de- 
scribing impossible  theorems  and  eating  chalk,  and  that 
the  janitor  and  two  professors  had  their  hands  full  carry- 
ing the  donkey  down  two  staircases  and  out  of  doors. 

Although  it  was  biting  cold  and  the  mercury  had  fallen 
to  the  zero  point,  I  could  not  afford  to  tarry  longer.  Af- 
ter lunch  we  set  out  in  a  blinding  snow-storm  and  tramped 
on  to  Phelps,  where  we  stopped  for  supper  and  an  hour's 
rest.  At  first  Mac  had  shown  no  ill-effects  of  his  recent 
exposure,  but  now  he  coughed.  Having  made  but  eight 
miles  that  day,  I  resolved  to  brave  the  storm  four  miles 
further,  and  reached  Clifton  Springs  at  ten  o'clock. 
There  I  obtained  comfortable  lodgings  for  myself  and 
partner. 

Next  day  the  venerable  director  of  the  Sanitarium  in- 
vited me  to  be  his  guest,  and  kindly  permitted  me  to  lec- 
ture to  the  patients  of  his  fashionable  hostelry  for  a  silver 
offering.  Of  course,  I  accepted.  My  "heart  to  heart"  talk 
seemed  to  tickle  the  large  audience,  but  when  the  porter 
brought  back  my  hat  with  only  two  dollars  in  it  I  was 
disappointed.  I  had  expected  a  contribution  commensu- 
rate with  the  encores.  When  I  paid  the  porter  25  cents  for 
his  services,  I  dropped  my  spectacles  and  broke  the 
glasses.  A  new  pair  would  cost  me  $1.75.  That  made 
accounts  even. 

"Reminds  me  of  the  colored  preacher,"  observed  the 
director  with  good  humor;  "somebody  passed  his  hat  to 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

the  congregation  and  returned  it  empty.  'Well,'  said  the 
parson,  Tm  thankful  to  de  Lawd  to  get  my  hat  back." 
The  story  was  apt,  but  it  did  not  console  me. 

While  at  the  Sanitarium  I  sold  many  photographs,  and 
judging  the  patients  to  be  affluent,  doubled  the  regular 
price.  Before  our  departure,  Mac  showed  symptoms  of 
rheumatism.  A  doctor  suggested  that  an  electri-thermal 
bath  would  make  a  new  animal  of  him.  "It  won't  cost  you 
a  cent,"  said  he.  I  arranged  for  the  treatment  at  once. 
It  required  several  attendants  to  get  the  fellow  in  the  elec- 
tric chair,  where  they  secured  him  with  straps ;  and  then 
the  doctor  administered  the  electricity.  While  the  electric 
wand  was  rubbed  over  his  legs  and  body,  the  frightened 
donkey  brayed  and  twisted  and  squirmed,  and  threatened 
to  upset  the  chair,  causing  much  merriment. 

Well,  Mac's  professional  treatment  made  him  a  new 
donkey.  He  traveled  more  quickly  than  ever  before,  and 
almost  out-tramped  his  master. 

Near  the  Springs  is  a  farm-house  where  resided,  at  that 
time,  a  sister  of  Stephen  A.  Douglas.  I  called  to  see  her, 
and  was  cordially  received.  She  was  86  years  of  age,  her 
left  arm  paralyzed,  and  her  eyesight  very  dim. 

Tramping  on,  we  came  to  Shortsville,  where  we  stopped 
for  dinner.  Supper  was  eaten  at  Victor,  and  at  eight,  Mac 
and  I  set  out  for  Pittsford,  the  wind  and  snow 
blowing  furiously  in  our  faces.  The  night  was  intensely 
dark.  Somewhere  past  ten,  I  passed  two  tramps  on  the 
highway,  but  only  they  and  the  passing  trains  broke  the 
monotony  of  the  journey. 

It  must  have  been  eleven  when  the  road  joined  another 
at  right  angles ;  I  was  puzzled  then  whether  to  turn  to  the 
left  or  to  the  right.  I  stamped  my  half  frozen  feet,  as  we 
halted  in  the  biting  wind  until,  presently,  through  the  fall- 
ing snow,  I  saw  a  distant  light,  and  hurried  for  it.  Far- 

72 


FOOTPADS    FIRE   UPON    US 

mers  usually  retired  early;  but  on  arriving  at  the  cozy 
house,  I  found  a  party  of  young  people  dancing,  playing 
cards,  and  eating  refreshments.  A  kind-faced  woman 
greeted  me  at  the  door,  and  asked  me  in.  When  I  intro- 
duced myself,  and  inquired  my  way,  the  astonishment  of 
the  whole  party  told  me  plainly  I  was  considered  an  hon- 
ored guest,  transient  indeed  though  I  was. 

"Well,  I  declare,  we've  read  about  you  lots;"  said 
the  hostess.  "Won't  you  sit  down  and  have  some  ice 
cream  and  cake  ?" 

"I  smell  coffee,"  I  remarked,  frankly;  "if  I  may  be 
treated  to  a  little  of  that,  I  shall  be  grateful ;  but  as  for 
ice  cream,  I  feel  it  a  little  unseasonable  this  evening.  And 
as  I  rubbed  my  ears  vigorously,  the  girls  laughed  and  said, 
Ain't  he  plucky !" 

It  was  hard,  indeed,  to  break  away  from  this  jolly 
party  ;  I  don't  know  how  long  I  should  have  tarried  if 
Mac  had  not  called  to  me.  His  bray  was  the  signal  for 
a  stampede  to  the  porch;  all  forgot  refreshments  and 
dancing  in  their  eagerness  to  see  the  famous  donkey. 
They  simply  lionized  him.  The  girls  carried  cake  and  pie 
and  ice  cream  to  him,  and  one  offered  him  a  fried  egg, 
which  he  declined.  When  we  said  our  adieux  the  shiver- 
ing group  gave  us  a  hearty  cheer  and  God-speed,  then 
rushed  indoors,  leaving  the  dejected  pilgrims  to  the  cold 
consolation  of  the  snow,  wind  and  darkness  of  a  winter's 
night. 


73 


CHAPTER  IX. 

In  the  first  lighted  house  there  was  a  woman  who 
would  not  open  to  me.  .  .  . 

Modestine  was  led  away  by  a  layman  to  the  stables,  and 
I  and  my  pack  were  received  into  our  Lady  of  the  Snows. 

— Travels  with  a  Donkey. 

Having  been  directed  on  the  road  to  Pittsford,  a  town 
seven  miles  beyond,  we  tramped  wearily  on,  battling  with 
the  elements  as  best  we  could  until  midnight,  when  al- 
most numb  with  cold,  I  resolved  to  seek  refuge  in 
a  small  hamlet  we  were  nearing,  called  Bush- 
nell  Basin.  I  was  told  it  contained  a  tavern 
which  would  accommodate  us,  in  an  emergency.  But 
it  was  so  dark  when  we  reached  Bushnell  that  I  could 
not  see  the  Basin.  Its  dozen  dusky-looking  shanties 
seemed  to  be  deserted,  and  when  I  saw  a  boy  crossing  the 
road  I  was  too  surprised  to  hail  him.  Mac  brayed,  and 
the  lad  stopped.  I  asked  him  where  the  hotel  was.  He 
directed  me  toward  a  dim  light,  and  disappeared.  We 
pushed  on,  but  the  light  was  extinguished  before  we  could 
reach  the  house.  I  called  loudly  to  the  landlord  to  let  me 
in ;  I  rapped  on  the  door  desperately,  and  repeated  my 
yells.  A  dog  in  the  house  barked  savagely;  then  Mac 
began  to  bray,  and  I  wondered  that  nobody  entered  a  pro- 
test against  such  a  disturbance.  At  length,  a  squeaky  fe- 
male voice  called  from  an  upstairs  window : 

"Who  be  ye?" 

"A  man/'  I  answered,  civilly. 

"What  kind  of  a  man?" 

74 


IN   A  HAYMOW   BELOW   ZERO 

"A  gentleman/'  I  said,  with  emphasis. 

"What's  that  thing  yer  got  with  ye?" 

I  was  afraid  she'd  catch  cold  in  the  opened  window,  if 
she  was  in  her  nightdress,  but  I  replied  in  a  voice  of  a 
siren,  "A  jackass." 

"Can't  let  ye  in — no  room  for  shows  here — next  town," 
fell  the  frozen  words  on  my  benumbed  ears. 

Then  the  woman  sneezed,  and  closed  the  window.  Mac 
A'Rony  seemed  to  comprehend  the  situation,  but  offered 
no  remedy.  I  would  have  covered  the  three  miles  to  Pitts- 
ford,  but  the  donkey  was  fagged  out,  and  could  barely 
drag  his  legs.  Where  were  we  to  find  shelter  at  such  a 
time  and  place  ? 

Retracing  our  steps  a  short  distance,  I  caught  the  sound 
of  pounding,  as  of  a  hammer.  Soon  I  heard  the  sawing 
of  a  board,  and  the  saw's  enraged  voice  when  it  struck  a 
knot.  Saved!  I  thought,  as  I  walked  in  the  direction 
whence  the  sound  emanated.  The  snow  lay  ten  inches 
deep ;  old  Boreas  shook  the  trees,  and  whistled  round  the 
quivering  hovels ;  and  I  was  so  chilled  and  vexed  that,  if 
another  person  had  dared  to  ask  me  what  kind  of  a  man 
I  was,  I  would  have  measured  somebody  for  a  coffin. 

Finally,  I  came  to  the  house,  through  whose  window  I 
discerned  a  lighted  candle  in  a  back  room.  I  rapped  on 
the  door.  The  sawing  continued ;  so  did  my  rapping. 
Then  the  sawing  ceased,  and  the  door  was  opened  by  a 
swarthy,  heavy  bearded  man  who  extended  me  a  kindly 
"Good  evenin'."  I  introduced  myself,  and  pleaded  my 
case. 

"Come  in  where  it's  warm,"  he  said ;  and  following  him 
to  the  stove,  I  explained  my  situation. 

"We  ain't  got  much  accommodation  for  ye,"  he  apolo- 
gized, "but  I  can't  leave  ye  and  yer  pet  out  in  the  cold. 
This  is  my  wife,"  and  the  man  introduced  me.  Then  he 

75 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

censured  the  landlady  of  the  tavern  for  not  admitting  me, 
saying  she  ought  to  have  her  license  revoked.  "If  you'd 
been  a  loafing  vagabond  and  drunkard,  she'd  taken  ye  in 
quick  enough," said  my  sympathetic  host ;  "but  as  ye  was  a 
gentleman  she  was  embarrassed  to  know  how  to  treat  ye." 
From  which  I  gathered  that  he  did  know  how,  and  would 
prove  it.  He  explained  that  the  front  part  of  the  building 
was  a  store ;  the  rear  portion  was  divided  into  two  small 
rooms, — a  kitchen  and  a  sleeping  room.  The  second  floor 
was  utilized  as  a  hay-loft,  wherein  was  stored  Hungarian 
hay  for  his  horse,  which  he  said  he  kept  "in  a  shed  'cross 
the  road  yonder." 

"Now,  if  ye'll  lend  me  a  hand,"  he  suggested,  "we'll 
make  room  for  yer  mule  in  the  shed,  and  my  wife'll  get 
ye  something  to  eat.  Then  we'll  see  where  we  kin  tuck 
ye  comfortable  till  mornin'." 

I  pulled  on  my  mittens  and  followed  the  man  into  the 
biting  wind  with  a  warmer  and  cheerier  heart,  and,  ac- 
quainting Mac  with  the  good  news,  proceeded  to  assist  my 
host  to  transfer  a  huge  woodpile  in  order  to  obtain  the  side 
of  a  hen  roost  lying  underneath  it,  with  which  to  construct 
a  partition  in  the  shed  to  preserve  peace  between  horse  and 
donkey. 

By  one  o'clock  Mac  was  stabled  and  I  in  prime  condi- 
tion to  enjoy  any  kind  of  a  meal.  The  good  wife  had  fried 
me  three  eggs,  and  brewed  me  a  pot  of  tea,  and  sawed  off 
several  slices  of  home-made  bread,  for  which  I  blessed  her 
in  my  heart  and  paid  her  a  compliment  by  eating  it  all. 

The  repast  over,  I  chatted  a  while  with  my  friends  and 
smoked;  then  said  if  they  were  ready  to  retire,  I  was. 
A  roughly  made  staircase  reached  from  the  kitchen  floor 
over  the  cook-stove  to  a  trap-door  in  the  ceiling,  and  up 
those  stairs  I  followed  my  host,  he  with  candle  in  hand,  I 
with  a  quilt  which  I  feared  the  kind  people  had  robbed 

76 


IN  A   HAYMOW   BELOW   ZERO 

from  their  own  bed.  Great  gaps  yawned  in  the  roof  and 
sides  of  the  loft,  through  which  the  wind  whistled  coldly. 
The  hay  was  covered  with  snow  in  places  and  the  ther- 
mometer must  have  been  far  below  zero.  But  I  stuck 
my  legs  in  the  hay,  and  pulled  a  woolen  nightshirt  over 
my  traveling  clothes,  and  tucked  the  quilt  round  my  body, 
and  put  on  my  hat  and  earlaps,  and  soon  was  as  snug  as  a 
bug  in  a' rug,  and  slept  soundly. 

I  arose  early  with  the  family,  joined  them  at  breakfast, 
paid  my  host  liberally,  and  started  with  Mac  for  Pittsford. 
There  we  were  welcomed  by  a  party  of  young  men  who 
had  expected  to  give  us  a  fitting  reception  the  evening  be- 
fore. They  claimed  that,  had  they  known  where  we  were, 
they  would  have  rescued  us  with  a  bob-sleigh.  I  did  not 
tarry  with  them,  but  tramped  on  to  Rochester,  and  arrived 
there  at  3  130  P.  M.,  having  covered  thirty-five  miles  since 
the  previous  morning. 

We  spent  two  days  in  the  Flour  City.  An  old  business 
acquaintance  arranged  for  Mac  A'Rony  to  pose  in  the 
show  window  of  a  clothing  store,  for  which  I  received  five 
dollars.  Although  it  was  dreadfully  cold  and  the  wind 
blew  a  gale,  Mac  attracted  every  pedestrian  on  the  street. 

I  called  on  "Rattlesnake  Pete,"  the  proprietor  of  a  well- 
known  curiosity  shop,  who  wanted  to  buy  my  bullet- 
riddled  hat,  but  I  declined  to  part  with  it  at  any  reason- 
able price;  then  I  called  on  the  Mayor.  He  received  me 
cordially,  laughed  when  I  related  my  adventures,  and  sub- 
scribed to  my  book. 

Rochester  is  the  seat  of  a  Theological  Seminary,  and 
several  breweries.  Near  by  is  the  celebrated  Genesee 
Falls,  where  Sam  Patch  leaped  to  his  death.  Many  old 
friends  called  on  me  during  my  sojourn,  among  them  a 
physician,  who  gave  me  a  neat  little  case  of  medicines, 
such  as  he  believed  would  be  most  needed  in  emergency 

77 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

on  such  a  journey ;  and  while  being  entertained  at  a  club, 
I  was  presented  with  a  fine  sombrero. 

In  spite  of  the  frigid  gale  which  had  been  raging  three 
days,  and  of  the  dire  predictions  of  the  Western  Union 
bulletins,  I  started  with  Mac  for  Spencerport  at  12:30, 
right  after  lunch.  The  village  lay  twelve  miles  distant. 
The  biting  wind  swept  across  the  level  meadows,  laden 
with  icy  dust  from  the  frozen  crust  of  the  snow,  and  cut 
into  our  faces.  Five  times  were  Mac  and  I  welcomed 
into  houses  to  warm,  but  we  reached  the  village  an  hour 
and  a  half  after  dark  with  only  my  ears  frost-bitten,  and 
soon  were  comfortably  quartered  for  the  night.  Next 
morning  we  started  for  Brockport,  eight  miles  further  on, 
by  the  tow-path,  which  we  followed. 

The  wind  was  blowing  forty  miles  an  hour,  and  the 
mercury  fell  below  zero.  Every  now  and  then  we  had  to 
turn  our  backs  to  the  gale  to  catch  our  breath.  Mac's  face 
was  literally  encased  in  ice ;  I  rubbed  my  ears  and  cheeks 
constantly  to  prevent  their  freezing.  Only  two  or  three 
sleighs  were  out,  and  the  drivers  of  these  were  wrapped  so 
thoroughly  in  robes  and  mufflers  that  I  could  not  distin- 
guish male  from  female.  Still  determined  not  to.  retreat 
to  town,  I  urged  my  little  thoroughbred  on,  and  soon  we 
were  called  into  a  house  and  permitted  to  thaw  out. 

On  this  occasion  Mac,  to  his  own  astonishment,  as  well 
as  that  of  the  kind  lady  of  the  house,  stuck  his  frosted 
snoot  into  a  pot  of  boiling  beans  on  the  stove,  for  which 
unprecedented  behavior  I  duly  apologized. 

Eight  more  times  both  of  us  were  taken  into  hospitable 
homes  and  inns  to  warm  before  reaching  Brockport  at 
eight  in  the  evening,  more  dead  than  alive.  My  nose  and 
ears  were  now  frost-bitten.  The  towns-people,  hearing 
of  our  arrival,  flocked  into  the  hotel  to  chat  with  me,  or 
went  to  the  stable  to  see  Mac  A'Rony. 

78 


IN   A   HAYMOW   BELOW   ZERO 

Wednesday  I  resumed  the  journey,  resolved  that  noth- 
ing save  physical  incapacity  should  deter  me;  now  was 
the  time  to  harden  myself  to  exposure,  and  prepare  me  for 
greater  trials  later  oh.  But  before  leaving,  I  purchased 
a  small  hand-sled,  and  improvised  rope-traces  by  which 
Mac  could  draw  my  luggage  instead  of  carrying  it.  Be- 
sides, this  novel  sort  of  vehicle  would  attract  attention; 
I  realized  that  we  must  depend  for  a  living  more  upon 
sensation  than  upon  our  virtues.  The  next  thing  essential 
was  a  collar  for  the  donkey,  and  I  had  to  make  it.  But 
to  make  the  stubborn  beast  understand  I  wished  him  to 
draw  the  sled,  that  he  wasn't  hitched  to  stand,  was  the 
greatest  difficulty  I  had.  Finally,  he  caught  on,  and 
marched  along  through  the  streets  quite  respectably. 

Beyond  the  town  we  met  with  some  deep  snowdrifts 
lying  across  the  road,  and  Mac's  little  legs  would  get 
stuck,  or  he  would  pretend  they  were,  and  I  would  have 
to  dig  the  fellow  out  with  my  rifle.  Again,  while  leading 
the  stubborn  animal  in  order  to  make  better  time  in  the 
opposing  wind,  I  would  suddenly  hear  a  grating,  scrap- 
ing sound  to  the  rear,  and  looking  around  would  find  the 
sled  overturned  with  its  burden.  After  several  such  up- 
sets, I  cut  a  bough  from  a  tree,  whittled  a  toothpick  point 
to  it,  and  prodded  Mac  to  proper  speed,  while  I  walked 
behind  and  with  a  string  steadied  the  top-heavy  load  of 
freight.  Then,  this  difficulty  remedied,  Mac,  with  seem- 
ing rascality,  would  cross  and  recross  the  ridge  of  ice  and 
snow  in  the  center  of  the  road,  as  if  he  couldn't  make  up 
his  mind  which  of  the  beaten  tracks  to  follow,  or  disliked 
the  monotony  of  a  single  trail,  every  time  upsetting  the 
sled.  During  that  long  and  frigid  day's  tramp  but  one 
human  being  passed  me,  and  he  was  in  a  sleigh.  He  rec- 
ognized my  outfit,  for  he  called  to  me  encouragingly, 
"Stick  to  it,  Pod ;  you'll  win  yet !" 

79 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

- 

Late  in  the  afternoon  a  man  hailed  me  from  the  door 
of  a  farm-house,  "Come  in  and  warm,  and  have  a  drink  of 
cider."  Now,  if  there  was  one  thing  in  the  world  that 
tickled  my  palate,  it  was  sweet  cider,  and  I  accepted  a 
glass. 

"Wouldn't  your  pard  have  a  drink?"  asked  the  gener- 
ous man. 

"Presume  he  would,  if  you  offered  it,"  I  replied.  "I 
never  knew  him  to  refuse  any  kind  of  a  beverage,  though 
this  cider  is  pretty  hard." 

The  farmer  brought  out  a  milk-pan;  and  that  donkey 
drained  the  pan. 

"Shall  I  give  him  some  more?"  asked  the  big-hearted 
soul.  Mac  stuck  out  his  nose  in  mute  response,  so  I  said 
yes,  provided  he  would  not  be  robbing  himself;  it  would 
probably  put  new  vigor  in  the  fatigued  animal,  and  super- 
induce more  speed. 

"Got  barrels  of  it,  friend,  barrels  of  it,"  said  the  Good 
Samaritan,  who  refilled  the  pan  which  Mac  again  drained. 
Then  thanking  the  farmer,  I  steered  my  donkey  on  over 
the  ice-bound  highway. 

We  had  not  proceeded  a  mile  when  I  observed  that  Mac 
did  not  walk  as  firmly  as  he  had ;  his  course  was  decidedly 
zig-zag.  Finally  I  left  my  station  at  the  sled  and  guided 
him  by  the  bit.  Now  he  staggered  more  than  ever ;  then 
it  dawned  on  me  that  the  cider  had  gone  to  his  head.  In 
less  than  five  minutes  more  I  regretted  having  met  that 
liberal-hearted  farmer,  possessing  barrels  of  hard  cider. 
Suddenly  the  drunken  donkey  fell  down  in  the  snow,  and, 
instead  of  attempting  to  rise,  he  tried  to  stand  on  his  head. 
Not  succeeding  in  that,  he  made  an  effort  to  sit  up,  and 
toppled  over  backwards.  All  this  time  he  brayed  ecstatic- 
ally, as  if  in  the  seventh  heaven.  Next  he  began  to  roll, 
and  tangled  himself  in  the  rope  traces,  and  tumbled  the 

80 


"Mac  could  draw  my  luggage  instead  of  carrying  it." 


"Mac's  little  legs  would  get  stuck. 


IN   A   HAYMOW   BELOW   ZERO 

sled  and  gladstone  bag  about  the  snow  as  though  it  were 
rubbish.  Fearing  lest  he  would  break  my  rifle  and  cam- 
eras, I  tried  to  unbuckle  them  from  the  saddle  while  the 
scapegrace  was  in  the  throes  of  delirium  tremens,  and  got 
tangled  up  with  him  in  the  ropes.  In  trying  to  free  my- 
self, I  was  accidentally  kicked  over  in  the  snow.  And  in 
that  ridiculous  and  awkward  fix  I  was  found  by  a  jovial 
farmer,  who  drove  up  in  a  sleigh.  He  soon  helped  me  out 
of  my  scrape,  and  laughed  me  into  good  humor,  kindly 
consenting  to  take  charge  of  my  luggage  and  send  a  bob- 
sleigh after  the  drunkard  as  soon  as  he  reached  his  house, 
a  mile  beyond. 

There  I  waited  for  the  relief  committee  and  the  wreck- 
ing sleigh  to  arrive.  To  say  I  was  the  maddest  of  mortals 
doesn't  half  express  it.  At  length  two  strong  men  with 
my  help  succeeded  in  depositing  Mac  on  the  bob ;  and  he 
was  conveyed  to  the  barn  and  there  placed  behind  the 
bars,  bedded  and  fed,  and  left  to  sober  up,  while  I,  his  out- 
raged master,  was  hospitably  entertained  over  night  by 
my  charitable  benefactor. 

We  were  now  at  Rich's  Corners,  some  four  miles  from 
Albion.  My  good  host  provided  me  with  such  warm  ap- 
parel as  I  hadn't  with  me,  and  when  bed-time  came,  I  was 
trundled  into  a  downy  bed  where  I  dreamed  all  night 
about  drunken  jackasses. 

By  breakfast  time  I  had  recovered  my  good  spirits.  I 
insisted  on  baking  the  buckwheat  cakes,  and  not  until  all 
the  family  were  apparently  filled  with  the  flapjacks  which 
I  tossed  in  the  air  to  their  amusement  did  I  sit  down  to 
the  table  to  eat. 

Breakfast  over,  I  joined  my  host  in  a  smoke,  then 
donned  my  wraps  for  the  day's  journey.  When  we  men 
returned  from  the  barn  with  the  reformed  donkey,  a  num- 

81 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

her  of  the  neighboring  farmers  had  assembled  with  their 
families  on  the  porch  to  see  the  overland  pilgrims.  I 
snapped  my  camera  on  the  group,  said  "Go  on,  Mac,"  to 
my  remorseful  partner,  and  soon  was  plodding  toward 
Albion. 


82 


CHAPTER  X. 

Strange  to  see  what  delight  we  married  people  have 
to  see  these  poor  fools  decoyed  into  our  condition,  every 
man  and  woman  gazing  and  smiling  at  them. 

—Samuel  Pepys'  Diary. 

We  did  not  reach  Albion  until  noon.  So  numerous 
were  the  snow-drifts  that  we  made  only  a  mile  an  hour. 
Old  Boreas  might  have  been  a  little  more  considerate  and 
brushed  the  snow  along  the  fences  instead  of  piling  it 
across  our  path.  That  morning  I  dug  Mac  out  of  a  dozen 
snow-drifts. 

Albion  looked  to  be  a  pretty  place.  Besides  many  at- 
tractive homes,  it  possesses  the  celebrated  Pullman  Mem- 
orial Church,  a  High  School,  and  a  woman's  reformatory. 
But  I  did  not  visit  those  interesting  places.  Being  a 
high  churchman,  the  church  was  too  low  for  me ;  not  be- 
ing up  in  the  classics,  the  high  school  was  too  high  for 
me;  and  believing  women  to  be  terrestrial  angels,  I  did 
not  wish  to  be  convinced  that  my  judgment  was  wrong  by 
investigating  a  female  reformatory.  I  put  up  at  a  com- 
fortable hotel,  where  I  was  told  that  the  relentless  storm 
would  likely  imprison  me  several  days,  and  found  cozy 
quarters  for  Mac  A'Rony.  The  day  after  my  arrival,  a 
neighboring  farmer  took  me  sleigh-riding  into  the  coun- 
try to  dine  with  him  and  his  mother,  his  fleet  horse  having 
once  conveyed  him  and  his  father  from  Dakota  to  Albion, 
1, 600  miles,  in  thirty-six  days.  When  I  told  Mac  about  it, 
he  turned  a  deaf  ear,  lay  down,  and  groaned  a  groan  of 
incredulity.  Ex-Consul  Dean  Currie  invited  me  to  spend 

83 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

an  evening  with  him  and  his  family,  and  took  me  to  call 
on  the  Mayor,  who  received  me  cordially  and  offered  me 
the  use  of  the  Town  Hall  for  a  lecture.  I  accepted,  and 
addressed  a  well-filled  house;  my  receipts  far  exceeding 
my  expenses  in  town. 

The  coziest  place  during  these  three  stormy  days,  I 
found  to  be  an  easy  chair  by  the  great  stove  in  the  hotel 
office,  where  I  whiled  away  most  of  my  time.  There, 
throughout  the  wintry  days  and  evenings,  assembled  the 
guests  of  the  house  and  many  convivial  spirits  from  town, 
to  hear  the  biggest  lie,  or  to  relate  the  most  ridiculous 
yarn. 

At  one  of  those  gatherings,  I  met  an  interesting  char- 
acter Sylvenus  Reynolds.  Although  he  was  eighty-four 
years  old,  he  appeared  as  young  and  agile  as  most  men  of 
half  his  years.  He  attributed  his  longevity  to  active  out- 
of-door  life.  Judging  from  his  talk,  one  would  have 
thought  him  to  be  the  greatest  traveler  living;  but,  be- 
cause he  was  denied  the  gift  of  a  scribe,  he  would  prob- 
ably die  like  the  heroes  of  the  country  churchyard,  "un- 
known to  fortune  and  to  fame."  He  had  tramped  and 
lived  by  his  rifle  from  Puget  Sound  to  Terra  Del  Fuego, 
and  was  the  first  white  man  to  cross  the  Andes  from  Chili 
to  Brazil. 

Once  in  the  jungles  of  India  he  and  a  lion  and  a  tiger 
all  met  unexpectedly,  and,  while  the  three  were  determin- 
ing which  two  should  become  partners,  the  tiger  made  a 
spring  at  Sylvenus,  and  just  when  his  gun  missed  fire  and 
he  thought  it  all  up  with  him,  the  lion  leaped  in  the  air, 
caught  the  tiger  by  the  neck,  and  killed  it.  He  said  after 
that  he  never  could  be  induced  to  take  the  life  of  a  lion, 
"the  kindest  and  gentlest  of  wild  beasts." 

But  I  must  tell  about  his  famous  jump  across  the  Lock 
at  Lockport,  at  that  time  14%  feet  wide.  The  event  was 

84 


AN  ASININE  SNOWBALL. 

well  advertised.  Temporary  toll-gates  were  established, 
and  ten  cents  levied  on  such  individual  passing  through 
to  the  "show."  Over  eight  hundred  and  eighty-eight  dol- 
lars were  collected  for  the  jumper.  The  jump  was  suc- 
cessful, and  Syl  got  the  pot.  The  narrative  closed  with  a 
discussion — and  another  jump. 

"That  wasn't  such  a  mighty  big  jump,"  remarked  a 
listener.  "I  know  several  fellows  who  can  jump  to  beat 
141/2  feet." 

"I'll  bet  a  dollar  with  any  or  all  the  men  present,"  said 
I,  "that  not  one  of  you  can  stand  still  on  this  floor  and 
jump  7  feet." 

I  had  ten  takers.  The  money  was  deposited  with  the 
proprietor;  the  house  was  thrown  into  great  excitement. 
The  ten  jumps  were  made.  But  the  judges  agreed  with 
Pod  that  the  jumpers  failed  to  stand  still  and  jump,  and 
so  handed  me  the  money.  Naturally,  the  jumpers,  being 
in  a  jumping  mood,  wanted  to  jump  on  me  next,  but  they 
finally  conciliated,  and  regarded  me  thereafter  with  sus- 
picion. 

Although  the  roads  were  reported  impassable,  we  de- 
parted for  Medina  on  Sunday  morning,  and,  the  day  fol- 
lowing, hastened  on  toward  Lockport.  When  yet  two 
miles  to  town,  after  traveling  sixteen  miles,  a  boy  ran 
after  us  in  the  darkness  and  persuaded  me  to  return  to  his 
house,  as  his  Pa  wished  me  to  be  his  guest  over  night ;  so 
we  did  not  reach  Lockport  until  eleven  next  morning.  I 
no  sooner  stabled  Mac  than  I  boarded  the  train  for  Buf- 
falo in  quest  of  a  theatre  engagement;  failing  in  that,  I 
returned  to  enjoy  a  stroke  of  good  luck  in  the  form  of  an 
engagement  for  Mac  and  me  to  appear  on  a  vaudeville 
stage  in  Lockport,  which  netted  me  a  few  honest  dollars. 

At  six  o'clock  Thursday  morning  we  were  off  for  Buf- 
falo, a  twenty-six  mile  journey.  Only  once  did  we  stop, 

85 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

when  I  unsaddled  for  our  mid-day  meal  at  Stormville, 
Mammoth  snow-drifts  were  piled  against  the  fences  and 
across  the  roads  which,  melting,  gave  way  under  my 
donkey's  weight,  frequently  imprisoning  his  slim  legs. 

We  reached  a  school-house  near  the  village  of  Wil- 
liams ville  just  as  the  scholars  were  dismissed  for  their 
nooning,  and  were  immediately  set  upon  by  a  laugh- 
ing, shouting,  questioning  bevy  of  frolicsome  children, 
who  made  merry  sport  of  my  partner's  predicament;  he 
was  stuck  in  a  snow-drift.  If  Mac  had  exerted  himself  a 
little,  he  might  have  climbed  out,  but  he  was  tired,  un- 
usually obstinate,  and  naturally  lazy,  and  so  preferred  to 
await  developments. 

One  precocious  genius  in  the  crowd  suggested  rolling 
•the  donkey  into  a  snowball,  and  rolling  him  to  town. 
That  was  the  signal  for  a  general  hurrah.  I  shook  my 
head  disapprovingly,  but,  on  thinking  it  over,  decided  to 
try  the  novel  plan. 

"Come  on,  boys,"  I  said.  And  then  with  peals  of  mer- 
riment and  youthful  energy  which  I  never  saw  equalled, 
the  whole  lot  soon  packed  the  snow  about  the  patient 
animal,  until  only  his  head  and  tail  were  left  exposed; 
then  I  gave  the  word  "heave  to,"  and  the  asinine  snow- 
ball began  to  turn  slowly  on  its  axis,  and  made  a  com- 
plete revolution.  The  donkey  brayed  with  laughter; 
but  before  he  had  rolled  a  dozen  times  he  stopped  braying 
and  began  kicking,  or  rather  made  futile  efforts  to  kick. 
A  dozen  more  revolutions  and  he  complained  of  dizziness, 
but  the  children  only  pushed  and  rolled  with  renewed 
energy.  Larger  and  larger  the  snowball  grew,  until 
finally  we  had  to  stop  and  scale  off  sufficient  snow  to  en- 
able the  good  work  to  go  on.  And  presently  it  did  go  on, 
and  we  rolled  the  asinine  snowball  into  town  amid  the 
cheers  and  laughter  of  the  children,  the  frightful  brays 

86 


AN  ASININE  SNOWBALL 

of  protestation  from  the  imprisoned  donkey,  and  the  dumb 
consternation  of  the  villagers. 

Mac,  when  liberated,  rose  at  once,  only  to  topple  over 
on  his  head.  He  claimed  the  earth  was  turning  around, 
which  was  true  enough,  although  not  the  way  the  donkey 
meant.  He  was  too  dizzy  to  stand  for  some  time;  each 
effort  resulted  in  a  comical  physical  collapse,  that  set  the 
villagers  shrieking  with  laughter.  This  was  a  good  time 
for  me  to  profit  by  Mac's  generous  entertainment,  and 
while  telling  the  assembled  crowd  all  about  our  travels,  I 
sold  photos  by  the  dozen.  The  people  opened  their  pock- 
ets liberally,  and  before  they  could  recover  from  the  ef- 
fects of  the  sensation  Mac  had  caused,  we  pilgrims  were 
hurrying  out  of  town,  over  an  easier  road  to  Buffalo. 

In  consequence  of  the  snowball  affair  and  several  other 
delays,  we  did  not  reach  the  city  until  after  dark.  Having 
traveled  seventeen  miles  since  lunch,  we  were  ravenously 
hungry.  Buffalo  presented  a  beautiful  sight,  with  her 
myriad  lights  gleaming  on  the  snow.  Down  Main  street, 
I  espied  a  patent  night-lunch  wagon  standing  by  the  curb, 
and  hitching  Mac  to  the  hind  axle,  I  went  in  for  a  bite. 
Suddenly  I  became  conscious  that  the  vehicle  was  moving, 
and  made  a  hasty  exit,  to  discover  I  had  traveled  several 
blocks  in  the  lunch  wagon. 

The  hard  travel  Mac  had  been  subjected  to  for  the  past 
week  necessitated  his  having  a  long  rest  before  resuming 
the  journey.  The  morning  after  our  arrival  in  Buffalo, 
my  aristocratic  donkey  was  made  the  honored  guest  of  the 
Palace  Stables,  a  large  and  handsome  brick  building. 
Mac's  box  stall  was  on  the  third  floor,  and  could  be 
reached  either  by  an  inclined  run-way,  or  an  elevator. 
The  donkey  being  unaccustomed  to  such  extravaganzas 
as  elevators,  chose  the  inclined  plane,  and  even  then  he 
put  on  such  airs  that  it  required  the  united  efforts  of  a 

87 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

half  dozen  stablemen  to  escort  him  to  his  apartment. 
Once  there,  he  was  feted  like  a  nobleman. 

I,  too,  was  lavishly  entertained.  But  of  all  the  cour- 
tesies extended  me  the  most  interesting  was  the  invitation 
to  stand  up  with  a  young  Italian  wedding  party  in  the 
City  Hall,  where  the  Mayor,  who  sent  for  me,  tied  the 
knot.  His  Honor  did  the  sacred  office  bravely — until  the 
conclusion,  when  he  flunked  completely.  I'll  explain. 

Casimo  Mazzette  and  Rosino  Lodico  were  dago  peas- 
ants, born  in  Palermo,  Sicily.  The  groom  was  tall  and 
proud  and  embarrassed,  although  ten  years  the  senior  of 
his  eighteen-year-old  bride,  who  was  too  coy  to  meet  his 
gaze.  She  at  first  took  Pod  for  a  preacher,  engaged  to 
prompt  the  Mayor.  According  to  the  custom  of  their  na- 
tive heath,  they  simply  joined  hands,  instead  of  using  a 
wedding-ring, — a  very  sensible  idea,  for  hard  times.  The 
pretty  ceremony  over,  the  bewitching  female  benedict 
looked  at  the  Mayor,  and  moved  toward  him,  and  raised 
her  face,  but  the  embarrassed  Mayor  withdrew,  to  the  as- 
tonishment of  everyone,  explaining  that  he  was  married 
to  a  jealous  woman,  and  asked  me  to  kiss  the  bride  for 
him.  He  preferred  to  do  the  honors  by  proxy.  So,  with- 
out comment  or  hesitation,  I  stepped  up  to  the  pretty 
dago,  placed  my  arm  around  her  to  avoid  danger  of  mak- 
ing a  bungle  of  the  first  kiss  I  ever  gave  a  woman,  drew 
her  face  to  mine,  and  kissed  her  squarely  on  her  ruby  lips. 
She  looked  so  happy  that  I  was  about  to  repeat  the  act, 
but  her  husband  stepped  between  us.  The  pair  shook  hands 
with  the  Mayor  and  his  clerical-looking  assistant,  who 
wished  them  lots  of  luck  and  "dagoettes,"  and  then  the 
blushing  bride  fled  with  her  devoted  swain  out  of  the  hall. 

Next  day  I  accepted  for  Mac  an  invitation  to  a  phono- 
graph exhibition  in  the  Ellicott  Building.  We  both  at- 
tended and  were  richer  for  it.  The  room  was  well-filled 

88 


AN  ASININE  SNOWBALL 

with  men  and  women  who  eagerly  awaited  the  advertised 
show.  When  the  manager  courteously  asked  what  was 
the  donkey's  favorite  style  of  music  I  explained  that,  as 
he  was  a  slow  animal,  he  probably  preferred  lively  music. 
At  once  the  "yellow  kid"  held  the  tubes  to  the  donkey's 
ears ;  those  sensitive  organs  indicated  his  delight  by  each 
alternatively  flapping  forward  and  backward;  but,  sud- 
denly, as  they  were  thrown  forward  together,  the  jackass 
kicked  an  incandescent  light  globe  above  into  flying  frag- 
ments. Women  screamed  and  fell  into  the  arms  of  the 
men  for  protection. 

"You  said  the  donkey  was  gentle,"  said  the  manager, 
angrily. 

"So  he  is,"  I  returned. 

"Then  how  do  you  account  for  such  high  kicking?" 

"Struck  a  discord,  I  presume,"  I  said.  "What  music 
is  in  that  machine  ?" 

The  clerk  answered.  "The  first  p-p-piece  was  the 
"Darkey's  Dream,"  said  he,  with  slight  impediment  of 
speech,  "but  the  s-s-second  was  "Schneider's  Band." 

"Who  wouldn't  kick!"  I  exclaimed.  Due  apologies 
were  in  order,  and  confidence  was  restored,  and  an  hour 
later  we  two  departed  with  the  donkey's  earnings  and  the 
well  wishes  of  all. 


89 


CHAPTER  XL 

ASININE  TABLE  OF  MEASUREMENT. 

Nine  square  inches  make  one  foot, 
Four  all-around  feet  make  one  jackass, 
One  cross  jackass  makes  three  kicks, 
Two  hard  kicks  make  one  corpse; 
Corpse,  kicks,  jackass,  feet — 
How  many  doggies  do  we  meet? 

— Dogeared  Doggerels . 

From  which  table  we  may  safely  conclude  there  is  one 
dog  less  in  the  world,  and  that,  estimating  him  by  his 
kicks,  Mac  is  a  jackass  and  a  half. 

If  I  had  kept  a  complete  record  of  the  breeds,  sorts,  col- 
ors, and  conditions  of  the  canines,  the  pups  and  curs  we 
met  with  on  the  road  from  New  York,  I  might  have  com- 
piled a  book  larger  than  Trow's  New  York  City  Directory, 
which  still  would  exclude  the  mongrels  and  all  unclassi- 
fied "wags"  and  "barks"  of  the  country  sausage-districts. 

From  a  financial  point  of  view,  I  was  disappointed  with 
our  four-days'  sojourn  in  Buffalo,  but  Mac  and  I  were 
rested,  and  the  weather  was -milder.  The  winds  from 
Lake  Erie  had  swept  the  snow  off  the  roads  against  the 
fences  where  it  didn't  belong,  so  that  my  partner  had  to 
drag  the  sled  out  of  Buffalo  over  a  dry  and  rutty  highway. 
There  were,  however,  several  places  where  the  elements 
had  shown  a  grudge  against  the  farmers  by  piling  huge 
snow  drifts  across  the  road  to  impede  their  travel  and 
maliciously  blowing  the  white  spread  from  the  fields  of 
winter  wheat  which  required  its  protecting  warmth. 

90 


ONE  BORE  IS  ENOUGH 

Directly  on  reaching  Hamburg,  we  were  taken  in 
charge  by  a  Mr.  Kopp  (Mac  had  predicted  a  cop  would 
have  us  before  long),  and  given  a  warm  reception.  On 
the  way  to  Eaton's  Corners,  six  miles  beyoncl,  I  undertook 
to  earn  fifty  cents  in  an  extraordinary  manner;  some 
might  call  it  a  hoggish  manner.  A  farmer  hailed  me  from 
a  barnyard,  and  asked  if  he  could  sell  me  a  boar. 

"Boar!"  I  exclaimed,  almost  losing  my  breath;  and  I 
added :  "No,  sir ;  one  boar  is  enough." 

"Well,  then,  do  yer  want  to  make  a  half  dollar?"  he 
called. 

"Course  I  do — more  than  anxious,"  I  answered. 

"Then  jes'  help  me  drag  this  'ere  hog  ter  town  most; 
Squire  Birge  has  bought  it,  and  I've  agreed  ter  deliver  it 
or  bust." 

"Let's  see  it,"  I  said.  "Don't  know  much  about  hogs, 
but  I'll  know  more,  I  guess,  when  I  see  yours." 

I  followed  the  man,  Mac  tagging  close  behind.  Behold ! 
A  docile  looking  hog  of  mastodon  dimensions  was  con- 
veying the  contents  of  a  corn  crib  to  its  inner  self.  I 
walked  around  the  beast  several  times  to  count  his  good 
points,  and  closed  the  bargain. 

An  end  of  a  rope  was  fastened  to  the  hog's  hind  foot, 
and  the  other  end  wound  round  the  pommel  of  the  saddle. 
Then  I  gave  the  infuriated  donkey  the  whip.  A  tug  of 
war  followed ;  presently  the  rope  snapped,  and  donkey 
and  hog  were  hurled  in  opposite  directions,  both  turning 
somersaults.  Luckily  my  rifle  escaped  injury.  The  hog 
lost  the  kink  in  his  tail;  he  looked  mad,  and  with  his 
vicious  stares,  frightened  Mac  half  to  death.  Finally  the 
rope  was  again  adjusted,  and  an  exciting  scene  ensued. 
The  velocity  of  the  vibrations  of  that  hog's  roped  foot, 
trying  to  kick  loose,  put  electricity  to  shame.  When  the 
donkey  eased  up  a  little,  the  boar  showed  its  true  character 

91 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

by  starting  for  the  barn,  pulling  Mac  after  him ;  while,  on 
the  other  hand,  when  the  hog  stopped  for  wind,  the 
donkey  would  make  a  dive  for  town  and  drag  him  un> 
til  he  also  had  to  pause  for  breath.  So  those  obdurate 
beasts  worked  rather  than  played  at  cross-purposes  for 
half  an  hour  before  I  forfeited  my  contract  and  proceeded 
on  over  the  frozen  road. 

We  reached  Angola  by  seven,  and  Farnham  at  ten 
o'clock.  There  we  were  comfortably  quartered ;  Mac  was 
rubbed  with  liniment,  fed  and  watered,  while  I,  too  late 
for  supper,  retired  with  an  empty  stomach. 

The  Lake  Shore  road  threads  some  thrifty-looking 
towns.  The  country  was  dotted  with  neatly  painted  barns 
and  cozy  houses,  surrounded  by  energetic  windmills  and 
inert  live-stock,  while  denuded  vineyards  laced  the  frosted 
shores  for  miles  about.  We  lunched  at  Silver  Creek, 
where  a  burly  denizen  tried  to  sell  me  a  big  dog,  which, 
he  claimed,  would  tear  an  ox  into  pieces.  The  price 
named  was  $5.  Neither  man  nor  dog  made  an  impression 
on  me. 

When  I  finally  drew  rein  in  Dunkirk,  at  7:30  P.  M., 
the  hotel  was  alive  with  commercial  men  who  quickly  sur- 
rounded us.  In  ten  minutes  I  sold  enough  chromos  to 
pay  our  expenses  over  night  and  purchase  a  new  breast- 
band  for  Mac. 

Prior  to  February  12,  Lincoln's  Birthday,  I  traveled 
so  rapidly  (even  with  a  donkey),  that  events  somewhat 
confused  me ;  following  the  shore  of  Lake  Erie,  I  visited 
a  dozen  towns  or  more,  sometimes  several  in  a  single  day. 

I  had  no  sooner  disfigured  the  guest  register  of  the 
New  Hotel,  Fredonia,  with  my  odd  signature  than  I  dis- 
covered the  illustrious  name  of  Geo.  W.  Cable  on  the  line 
above  mine.  It  seemed  a  strange  coincidence  that  two 
such  famous  men  as  Cable  and  Pod  should  be  so  unex- 

92 


ONE  BORE  IS  ENOUGH 

pectedly  crowded  together  in  that  little  book,  in  a  little 
inn,  in  that  town.  Natural  enough  and  pursuant  to  the 
Law  of  Affinities,  I  immediately  sent  my  card  to  the  cele- 
brated author,  who  at  once  invited  the  eccentric  traveler  to 
his  room.  Mr.  Cable  had  been  reclining,  having  just  ar- 
rived by  train.  He  gave  me  a  complimentary  ticket  to  his 
lecture,  that  evening,  which  I  placed  in  my  pocket,  and 
later  gave  to  the  hotel  clerk  for  discounting  my  bill. 

"What  a  pretty  place  this  must  be  in  summer,"  was  the 
author's  initiatory  remark,  while  twisting  a  yawn  into  a 
smile.  ' 

"Yes,  indeed,"  I  answered,  and  stretched  my  legs. 

"And  how  do  you  stand  the  journey." 

"Oh,  fairly  well ;  getting  in  better  condition  every  day." 

"You  are  a  slender  man,  Professor,  but  I  assume,  very 
wiry,  like  the  cables." 

The  conversation  continued  until  I  felt  the  strain,  and 
I  presently  shook  hands,  and  wishing  him  a  full  house,  de- 
parted. The  author-lecturer  is  a  little  under  stature ;  he 
wore  a  genial  smile  and  frock  coat ;  his  eyes  were  as  bright 
as  duplex  burners ;  and  he  shook  hands  just  as  other  peo- 
ple do. 

It  was  long  after  dark  when  we  travelers  ambled  into 
Brockton  and  put  up  for  the  night. 

Mac  and  I  had  passed  the  day  in  the  village  of  Ripley. 
The  Raines  Law  did  not  seem  to  have  a  salutary  effect  on 
that  section  of  the  State.  I  met  on  the  road  that  after- 
noon a  tall,  lank,  tipsy  fellow,  carrying  a  long  muzzle' 
loader  gun.  He  stopped  me,  and  said  he  was  a  Western- 
er, a  half-breed,  and  fifty  years  old.  "Been  out  shootin' 
mavericks,"  he  said  importantly.  "Same  gun  (hie)  had 
in  th'  Rockies.  I'm  gentle,  though — gentle  as  a  kitten." 
I  was  charmed  to  know  he  was  not  hostile,  said  "So  long," 
and  hurried  on. 

93 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

Sunday  was  Valentine's  Day.  I  received  a  few  doubt- 
fully appropriate  souvenirs,  but  did  not  discover  the  name 
of  a  single  friend  in  the  batch.  Before  leaving  Ripley  I 
was  presented  with  a  large  and  handsome  dog,  a  cross  be- 
tween the  bloodhound  and  the  mastiff,  a  pup  weighing 
98  pounds,  which  I  named  Donkeyota.  The  generous 
donor  was  a  Mr.  W.  W.  Rickenbrode,  who  accompanied 
me  some  distance  to  assist  me  in  handling  the  huge  ani- 
mal, in  case  of  emergency.  He  had  no  sooner  bade  me 
good-bye  than  I  feared  lest  I  should  not  be  able  to  make 
another  mile  that  day.  The  wind  blew  a  hurricane. 
While  passing  a  cemetery,  I  took  a  snap-shot  of  square 
grave-stones,  which  photograph  shows  them  rolling  in 
that  driving  gale.  It  was  the  most  wonderful  demonstra- 
tion of  the  wind's  power  I  ever  witnessed. 

Shortly  afterward,  in  descending  a  steep  and  icy  road 
into  a  gully  the  sled  with  its  burden  ran  against  my 
donkey's  heels,  upset  him,  and  carried  him  half  way  down 
the  hill.  In  my  anxiety  and  haste  to  assist  Mac,  and  hold 
on  to  my  hat,  I  dropped  the  dog's  chain,  and  away  he  went 
kiting  down  hill  after  the  sled ;  and  I  needed  four  hands. 
To  my  surprise,  the  dog,  Don,  seemed  to  enjoy  the  enter- 
tainment, and  instead  of  fleeing  back  to  Ripley,  rolled  in 
the  snow  and  barked  in  glee. 

We  reached  the  Half  Way  House,  Harbor  Creek,  after 
dark.  Next  morning  after  breakfast  the  landlord's  little 
daughter  came  rushing  into  the  house  to  impart  the  thrill- 
ing news  that  John,  their  horse,  had  a  little  colt ;  and,  en- 
thusiastically leading  us  to  the  stable,  she  pointed  to  my 
donkey  and  said,  "There!  see?"  Mac  A'Rony  turned  his 
head  and  regarded  the  little  one  with  a  comical  expression 
on  his  countenance,  as  much  as  to  say,  "If  I  brayed,  you'd 
think  me  a  Colt's  revolver." 

Upon  entering  the  city  of  Erie,  Pa.,  the  Transfer  Con> 

94 


ONE  BORE  IS  ENOUGH 

pany  sent  an  invitation  to  Mac  A'Rony  and  Donkeyota 
to  be  its  guests ;  I  sought  a  leading  hotel,  and  busied  my- 
self with  my  newspaper  article.  Tuesday,  late  in  the  day, 
we  started  for  Fairview,  twelve  miles  beyond.  We  passed 
many  jolly  sleighing  parties,  some  of  whom  stopped  to 
chat  with  me,  and  share  with  me  refreshments,  and  pur- 
chase my  chromos;  and  one  sleigh  load  promised  to  en- 
tertain me  royally  at  the  hotel.  They  kept  their  word,  and 
after  refreshments  and  an  hour's  rest,  we  resumed  the 
journey  in  the  light  of  the  full  moon,  arriving  at  Girard 
by  9 130.  Next  morning,  the  village  constable  arrested  my 
attention  and  persuaded  me  to  act  as  auctioneer  at  a  ven- 
due;  by  which  deal  I  made  some  money.  I  worded  the 
hand-bill  as  follows : 

AUCTION  SALE. 
Monday,  February  isth,  1897. 
The  farm  of  Jeremy  Shimm,  its  buildings,  live- 
stock, farming  utensils  and  implements,  its  crops 
and  its  woodland,  its  weals  and  its  woes,  including  the 
following  named  articles  and  belongings,  will 
be  sold  under  hammer  this  day  at  10  a.  m. : 
Barns  and  sheds,  and  other  stable  articles, 
pens  and  pig-pens,  hen-roosts,  dog-kennels, 
house  and  smoke-house,  step-ladders,  dove-cotes, 
buggies,  wagons,  traps  and  rat-traps,  plows, 
sows,  cows,  bow-wows,  hay-mows,  sleds,  beds,  sheds,  drills, 
wills  and  mills,  wagon-jacks  and  boot-jacks, 
yoke  of  oxen,  yolk  of  eggs,  horse-clippers, 
sheep-shears,  horse-rakes,  garden-rakes,  cradles, 
corn-cribs  and  baby-cribs,  cultivators,  lawn 
mowers,  corn-shellers,  chickens  and  coops,  roosters 
and  weathercocks,  swine,  wine,  harrows,  wheel- 
barrows, bows-and-arrows,  stoves,  work  horses,  sawhorses, 
axles  and  axle-grease,  axes,  cider,  carpets, 
tables,  chairs,  wares,  trees,  bees,  cheese,  etc. 
By  orders  of  the  TOWN  CONSTABLE, 

Hank  Kilheffer, 
Pythagoras  Pod,  Auctioneer. 

95 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

The  dodgers  were  speedily  printed  and  circulated  in  all 
directions — sown  broadcast,  as  it  were — and,  it  being  a 
windy  day,  they  flew  like  scudding  snow-flakes  over  every 
farm  for  miles  around. 

A  great  throng  assembled  to  witness  the  extraordinary 
event,  and  to  take  advantage  of  bargains  with  the  traveler- 
auctioneer,  who,  mounted  on  a  pile  of  wood,  with  plug 
hat  in  hand,  yelled  at  the  top  of  his  voice  and  finally  dis- 
posed of  the  rubbish.  The  art  of  auctioneering  seemed 
to  come  to  me  by  inspiration,  and  the  enthusiastic  farmers 
and  towns-people  swarmed  around  me,  eager  to  secure  a 
trophy  of  the  notable  sale. 

"Three  superb  harrows  are  now  to  be  sold,  and  will  be 
sold,  if  I  have  to  buy  them  myself — seventy-two  tooth, 
thirty-six  tooth  and  false  tooth  harrows ;  harrows  with 
wisdom  teeth,  eye  teeth  and  grinders,  will  grind  up  the 
soil  and  corn-stubble  in  a  harrowing  manner,  and  cultivate 
the  acquaintance  of  the  earth  better  than  any  other  kinds 
made.  How  much  am  I  offered  ?"  As  I  yelled,  I  felt  that 
I  had  strained  my  voice. 

"One  dollar,"  called  a  granger  to  set  the  ball  rolling. 

"One  dollar,  one  dollar,  one  dollar — going  one  dollar — 
gone  one  dollar — to  the  bow-legged  gentleman  over 
there,  with  albino  eyebrows — "This  way,  sir!"  I  shouted. 
"Constable,  please  take  his  name,  and  chain  him  to  the 
wood  pile." 

In  this  manner  it  didn't  take  me  long  to  dispose  of  the 
farm,  including  the  soil  four  thousand  miles  deep,  and  the 
air  forty-five  miles  high.  I  finished  the  ordeal  by  noon, 
was  paid  my  fee,  and  then  discourteously  told  that  I  had 
realized  several  hundred  dollars  less  from  the  sale  than 
the  constable  himself  could  have  done.  Still  every  pur- 
chaser admitted  he  was  more  than  satisfied  with  my  gen- 

96 


ONE  BORE  IS   ENOUGH 

erous  conduct,  shook  my  hand,  bought  a  chromo  and  ex- 
pressed the  desire  to  meet  me  again.  And  that  was  a 
thing  that  does  not  happen  always  in  connection  with 
vendues. 


97 


CHAPTER  XII. 

I  do  love  these  ancient  ruins. 
We  never  tread  upon  them  but  we  set 
Our  foot  upon  some  reverend  history. 

— Duchess  of  Malfy. 

I  did  not  tarry  long  in  Girard,  but  spent  the  night  in 
West  Springfield.  Thursday  morning  I  escaped  from  the 
Keystone  into  the  Buckeye  State,  eating  dinner  in  Con- 
neaut.  As  the  sleighing  had  disappeared,  I  shipped  my 
little  sled  home,  as  a  relic  of  the  trip,  and  packed  my  grip 
in  the  saddle,  as  of  old. 

After  a  short  rest  in  Ashtabula,  we  climbed  a  hill  by 
the  South  Ridge  road,  where  I  got  a  fine  view  of  the  city, 
and  soon  lost  ourselves  in  the  darkness. 

Presently  a  farmer  drove  up  in  a  rickety  wagon  and  be- 
gan to  coax  me  to  accept  of  his  hospitality  for  the  night. 
He  deftly  explained  that  he  would  care  for  me  and  my 
animals  until  after  breakfast  for  fifty  cents. 

I  decided  to  avail  myself  of  the  invitation,  and  Mac 
congratulated  me  on  my  display  of  good  sense.  I,  too, 
slapped  myself  on  the  shoulder ;  I  was  ready  to  sup  and  go 
right  to  bed.  In  a  short  time  both  donk  and  dog  were 
comfortably  stabled,  and  I  was  introduced  to  the  family. 
The  noises  from  the  lighted  kitchen  had  faintly  intimated 
to  me  the  sort  of  den  into  which  I  was  allured.  It  con- 
tained the  noisiest  lot  of  children  that  ever  blessed  a 
household. 

"Are  these  all  yours  ?"  I  inquired,  politely. 

"Nope,"  answered  Mr.  Cornbin.     "Ye  see,  this  'ere's 

98 


AT   A    COUNTRY   DANCE 

sort  of  a  half-way  house;"  the  man  smiled,  and  poked 
some  cheap  tobacco  into  his  corn-cob  pipe.  "There's  go- 
in'  to  be  a  dance  down  to  Plimton's  to-night  and  all  our 
friends  from  around  've  fetched  in  their  babies  for  George 
Buck — he's  our  hired  man — to  take  care  of.  Like  to 
dance,  eh?  Better  go  'long — fine  women  going  ter  be 
there — here's  plug,  .  if  ye  want  a  chew — no  ?  That's 
smokin'  terbaccer  on  the  table  by  yer.  We're  plain 
folks,  but  you're  welcome  to  the  best  we've  got." 

Mrs.  C.  prepared  me  a  supper  which  went  right  to  the 
spot.  She  advised  me  to  go  to  the  dance,  by  all  means. 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  that  as  soon  as  the  word 
"dance"  was  mentioned;  the  "kids"  would  have  driven 
me  crazy  in  short  order,  had  I  remained  with  Buck. 

One  by  one  the  mothers  of  the  hilarious  "brats"  came 
in ;  then  we  all  got  our  wraps  on.  I  expected,  of  course, 
we  were  going  to  ride,  but  no,  the  whole  party  walked. 
My  hostess  took  her  own  babe  with  her.  She  would 
leave  the  hired  man  in  charge  of  her  neighbors'  children, 
but  was  too  wise  to  entrust  her  own  child  with  him  and 
the  lamp. 

When  we  reached  our  destination  I  was  introduced  to 
four  grangers  playing  "seven  up,"  and  told  to  make  my- 
self comfortable.  "Choose  your  woman,  Professor," 
said  Mr.  Cornbin,  "an'  show  'em  how  you  kin  manage 
yer  feet  on  a  waxed  floor." 

Sure  enough,  the  floor  was  waxed.  The  garret  was 
converted  into  a  veritable  ball-room.  Two  rows  of  up- 
right scantling  crossed  in  the  center  of  the  room  and 
propped  the  snow-laden  roof,  and  through  these  uprights, 
some  twenty  inches  apart,  glided  the  blue  jeans  and 
overalls,  calico  and  cambric  skirts,  with  as  much  energy 
and  pride  as  might  be  squeezed  out  of  a  city  cotillion. 
The  fiddlers  and  caller  were  mounted  on  a  board  platform 

99 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

at  one  end  of  the  "hall."  They  sawed  away  and  shouted, 
and  wore  out  more  enthusiasm,  catgut  and  shoe-leather 
than  I  ever  saw  wasted  in  the  same  length  of  time. 

There  were  all  sorts  of  dances  and  dancers.  I  myself 
tackled  the  Virginia  reel,  Lancers,  Quadrille,  Caledonia, 
Polka,  Hornpipe,  Mazourka,  a  Spanish  dance,  the  Irish 
Washwoman,  and  several  others.  The  favorite  music  was 
"Pussy  in  the  Rainbarrel ;"  it  served  for  a  half  dozen  dif- 
ferent dances.  I  never  liked  the  music — a  sort  of  wind- 
pipe or  bagpipe  which  allowed  no  breathing-spell  from 
start  to  finish.  In  my  second  dance  I  went  off  my  feet, 
my  head  caught  under  the  sloping  roof,  and  the  floor  mas- 
ter had  to  knock  my  "pins"  from  under  me  to  get  me 
loose. 

There  was  one  pretty  girl  there,  and  I  tried  to  engage 
her  for  a  dance,  but  every  time  I  approached  her  she  shied 
away ;  at  last,  she  got  used  to  my  odd  appearance,  and  al- 
lowed me  to  clasp  her  to  my  bosom  in  a  waltz.  Just  as  we 
got  started,  the  dance  closed,  and  the  caller  shouted  to 
choose  partners  for  a  square  dance.  My  pretty  partner 
agreed  to  dance  it  with  me ;  I  could  see  several  of  her  ad- 
mirers looking  "daggers"  at  me. 

"Forward;  right  and  left!"  sounded  the  call.  "Lead 
yer  partners  round  the  outside !" 

I  thought  the  caller  meant  the  outside  of  the  house,  and 
started  down  stairs,  but  was  soon  stopped,  and  the  call 
explained  to  me. 

"Alaman  left! — grand  right  and  left! — half  way  and 
back — change  partners,  and  four  ladies  salute! — balance 
again  and  swing  the  opposite  lady !" 

That  succession  of  calls  completely  demoralized  me.  I 
got  all  mixed  up,  and  soon  found  myself  clasping  an  up- 
right instead  of  somebody's  partner,  and  concluded  my 

100 


AT   A    COUNTRY   DANCE 

part  by  violently  sitting  on  the  floor.  After  that  I  con- 
tented myself  with  looking  on. 

Although  the  two  prettiest  features  of  the  ball — the 
Minuette  and  the  St.  Vitus  Dance — had  not  yet  taken 
place,  I  felt  more  than  satisfied,  and  bidding  my  friends 
good  morning,  set  out  for  the  Cornbin  domicile. 

After  a  late  breakfast  of  tea,  bread,  salt  pork  and  fried 
potatoes,  I  started  for  Geneva. 

All  through  New  York  State  people  had  supposed  on 
seeing  me  that  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  had  "busted,"  and 
that  Marks,  the  lawyer,  was  homeward  bound  with  his 
mule.  In  Ohio,  the  curious  countrymen  inquired  if  I  was 
on  my  way  to  join  Maine's  Circus,  at  its  winter  quarters, 
Geneva.  Mac,  as  well  as  I,  was  quite  sensitive  over  these 
inquiries.  Through  the  driving  snow-storm  we  managed 
to  reach  a  hotel  where,  after  a  noon  meal,  I  led  my  ani- 
mals on  to  Madison. 

When  a  half  mile  yet  to  the  village  we  passed  the  Old 
Woman's  Home,  which  I  visited  the  following  morning, 
Sunday.  The  man  who  planned  it  was  a  genius.  The 
rooms  of  the  commodious  building  were  fitted  up  to  suit 
the  whims  of  the  most  fastidious  fossils  of  second  child- 
hood. Paintings  and  plaster  bas-reliefs  of  old  women 
knitting,  washing  false  teeth,  and  sewing,  decorated  the 
walls.  Sewing  baskets,  crazy  quilts,  dolls,  and  paper  sol- 
diers were  strewn  about  the  rooms.  The  most  novel  of 
all  departments  was  the  dental  and  hirsute  Check  Room, 
where  the  old  ladies  checked  their  false  teeth,  wigs,  cork 
legs,  etc.,  when  they  happened  in  disuse.  A  little  brass 
ring  containing  a  number  is  given  the  owner  of  the  ar- 
ticle to  be  checked,  so  that  it  may  be  preserved  in  good 
condition,  and  not  get  lost.  Incidents  are  cited  where 
very  old  women,  during  intervals  of  temporary  aberra- 
tion, have  got  their  checks  mixed  and  tried  to  wear  an 

101 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

extra  set  of  teeth,  or  an  additional  wig;  and  it  is  said 
that  once  a  woman  with  two  normal  legs  endeavored  to 
hook  on  a  cork  leg.  But  when  we  consider  the  great  age 
of  the  inmates,  such  cases  are  quite  pardonable. 

From  the  next  town,  Painesville,  we  went  to  the  home 

of  President  Garfield.  Mr.  R ,  who  had  the  care  of 

the  handsome  residence,  invited  me  in  to  rest,  and  sup.  I 
was  shown  all  of  the  beautiful  and  interesting  rooms.  In 
the  spacious  hall  hung  a  large  photograph  of  Milan  Ca- 
thedral, and  in  the  upstairs  hall,  a  portrait  of  Washington 
and  an  engraving  of  Lincoln.  In  the  General's  favorite 
study,  I  was  permitted  to  sit  in  the  large  easy  chairs 
where  he  had  found  comfort  after  his  mental  labors  and 
inspiration  for  his  speeches  and  debates,  and  regarded  the 
bric-a-brac  and  furniture  with  more  awe  and  reverence 
than  I  had  ever  felt  upon  visiting  the  homes  of  the 
the  great. 

Two  miles  beyond  Mentor  is  Kirtland,  once  a  thriving 
Mormon  camp.  It  is  situated  at  considerable  distance 
from  the  direct  route  to  Cleveland,  and  it  took  us  over  a 
distressingly  muddy  road,  and  through  such  intense  dark- 
ness that  I  soon  lost  my  bearings.  Seeing  the  gleam  of  a 
lamp  in  a  window,  I  went  up  to  the  house  to  inquire  the 
way  to  the  tavern.  The  owner  insisted  on  our  being  his 
guests,  and  I  felt  very  grateful.  My  animals  were  as- 
signed to  a  shed,  and  I  was  invited  to  a  hot  supper,  which 
my  good  hostess  hastily  prepared. 

I  soon  discovered  that  I  was  among  spiritualists,  as  well 
as  Latter  Day  Saints.  My  Host,  Mr.  J ,  was  an  elder- 
ly man,  and  well  informed.  He  said  much  about  Joseph 
Smith.  He  himself  was  born  in  Kirtland  some  eighty 
years  back,  and  had  often  listened  to  the  preachings  of 
the  founder  of  Mormonism.  In  those  days  Kirtland  con- 
tained about  2,000  inhabitants ;  but  all  that  remained  of 

1 02 


AT    A    COUNTRY    DANCE 

the  town  are  two  stores,  a  shop,  and  a  dozen  or  so  little 
houses,  half  of  which  I  found  to  be  occupied  by  itinerant 
preachers  of  the  "Latter  Day  Saints." 

My  host  said  he  firmly  believed  in  Spiritualism,  and 
dwelt  at  length  on  communication  between  the  material 
and  spiritual  world.  Finally  he  strode  to  my  chair  and  felt 
of  my  cranium. 

"Why  Prof.,"  said  he  enthusiastically,  "you  are  a 
medium  yourself.  All  you  require  is  a  little  study  of  the 
science.  Spiritualism  is  merely  the  science  of  material- 
ism." I  shivered  audibly. 

"And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  I  said,  "that  you  believe 
honestly  you  can  see  the  ghost,  or  the  spirit  of  the  de- 
parted?" 

"I  know  it,"  Mr.  J returned,  emphatically.  "I  have 

felt  the  spirit  of  the  departed.  One  night  at  a  seance  I 
saw  my  little  step-daughter  who  had  been  dead  many 
years.  I  heard  her  call  to  me  "papa."  She  put  her  arms 
round  my  neck,  and  kissed  me  on  the  lips.  Then  she  dis- 
appeared. Of  course,  I  know  it !  I  saw  her,  I  heard  her, 
I  felt  her ;  isn't  that  proof  enough  ?" 

I  told  my  host  that  he  was  certainly  convinced,  but  I 
wasn't.  I  then  bade  him  and  his  wife  good  night,  and 
was  ushered  to  my  chamber.  There  I  pulled  the  clothes 
over  my  head,  and  tried  to  attribute  my  shivers  to  the 
cold. 

When  I  awoke  next  morning  and  searched  in  my  grip 
for  my  razor  and  found  in  place  of  it  a  "Toledo  Blade,"  I 
began  to  suspect  some  supernatural  being  had  robbed  me. 

Before  leaving  Kirtland  my  host  persuaded  me  to  be 
shown  the  famous  Temple  and  the  house  in  which  the 
Prophet,  Joseph  Smith,  lived.  The  Temple  of  the  Latter 
Day  Saints  there  standing,  is  probably  the  only  church 
of  three  stories  in  the  country.  I  climbed  to  the  tower 

103 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

that  surmounts  it,  and  got  a  fine  view  of  the  spot  where 
once  stood  the  house  of  Brigham  Young.  The  arrange- 
ment of  the  inner  temple  was  quite  novel.  At  both  ex- 
tremities of  the  main  hall,  or  nave,  was  a  series  of  four 
rows  of  white-painted  seats,  lettered  in  gilt  to  represent 
the  several  orders  of  the  Priests  of  Melchizedek.  Long 
rows  of  rings  hung  from  the  ceiling,  crossing  each  other 
in  places,  from  which  were  once  suspended  curtains  to  di- 
vide the  nave  into  rooms  for  the  sessions  of 
the  different  orders,  and  in  the  white  square  pillars  might 
still  be  seen  the  rollers  and  pulleys  with  which  the  cur- 
tains were  drawn. 

Said  Mr.  J ,  "I  have  heard  Joseph  Smith  shout  from 

that  pulpit  and  tell  how  the  Mormons  would  yet  build 
a  temple  still  larger,  to  answer  their  future  needs,  and 
some  day  in  the  future  another  one  a  mile  square;  that 
they  were  the  chosen  people,  and  would  send  mission- 
aries to  convert  all  Europe,  after  which  they  proposed  to 
sweep  in  America  to  a  man.  Soon  after  that  proclamation 
he  moved  West  with  a  large  following.  There  they  re- 
organized, and  the  new  order  assumed  the  title  of  'The 
Latter  Day  Saints/  " 

Traveling  that  day  was  most  disheartening  in  more 
ways  than  one.  The  roads  were  awful,  my  exchequer 
extremely  low.  Fortunately,  on  the  way  to  Willoughby 
a  farmer  offered  to  feed  me  and  my  partner,  provided 
we  would  help  him  saw  some  wood. 

Mac  supervised  the  work.  After  we  sawed  off  a  sec- 
tion of  a  log,  the  farmer  handed  me  the  axe,  but  soon 
took  it  from  me,  saying  that  I  couldn't  chop  any  better 
than  I  could  saw.  Then  we  ate. 


104 


'Mac  supervised  the  work. 


'Only  time  I  got  ahead  of  him." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

As  Bud  bestrode  the  donkey  the  cheers  of  the  throng  rose, 
but  above  the  tumult  he  could  hear  the  North  End  jeering  at  him. 
— Much  Pomp  and  Several  Circumstances. 

From  Willoughby  we  went  to  Cleveland.  My  route 
through  the  beautiful  city  lay  along  one  of  the  finest  resi- 
dence streets  in  America — the  famous  Euclid  avenue. 

From  there  we  marched  to  Superior  street,  where 
cheers  greeted  us  on  every  hand.  The  papers  had  her- 
alded my  advent,  and  as  in  the  other  towns  and  cities,  the 
newspaper  artists  had  taxed  their  imaginations  to  picture 
Pod  and  Mac. 

We  two  were  engaged  to  appear  at  the  Star  Theatre 
Wednesday  evening,  and  when  I  rode  out  on  to  the  stage 
the  house  shook  with  laughter  and  cheers.  I  made  a  short 
address  and  announced  that  I  would  sell  photos  of  Mac 
A'Rony  and  his  master  at  the  door. 

That  theatre  put  me  way  ahead  financially.  Thursday 
morning  I  called  on  the  Mayor,  Mark  Hanna  and  Senator 
Garfield,  and  added  the  autographs  of  all  three  to  my  al- 
bum. Mr.  Garfield  invited  me  to  attend  the  weekly  din- 
ner and  reception  of  the  "Beer  and  Skittles  Club,"  that 
evening.  I  went  and  enjoyed  myself. 

Next  day  I  reached  the  village  of  Bedford  by  7  :oo  P. 
M.,  only  making  thirteen  miles ;  and  the  following  night  I 
put  up  at  a  cozy  inn  at  Cuyahoga  Falls.  We  three  had 
covered  eighteen  miles  that  day ;  it  seemed  twice  the  dis- 
tance. I  was  almost  frozen.  All  day  I  held  my  once 
frost-bitten  nose  in  my  woolen  mittens,  and  my  ears  were 

105 


A    PECULIAR   COLD    DAY 

wrapped  in  a  silk  muffler.  In  the  morning  a  man  hailed 
me:  "Cold  day!" 

"Yes,  pretty  chilly,"  I  returned,  politely. 

A  half  mile  on  a  farmer  opened  the  door  and  yelled : 

"Pretty  cold,  hain't  it,  Professor?" 

"You  bet,"  said  Pod,  icily. 

Some  distance  further  a  fat  German  drove  by  in  a  gig 
and  said :  "It  vash  cold— don't  it  ?" 

''  'Course  it's  cold !"  I  answered,  acridly. 

A  mile  beyond  two  men  reminded  me  it  was  a  very  win- 
try day. 

Then  a  woman  drove  past  and  tossed  me  the  comfort- 
ing reminder :  "Don't  you  find  it  awfully  cold  ?"  I  did  not 
reply  to  the  last  two. 

Twenty  minutes  later  a  boy,  from  a  cozy  home,  yelled 
to  me.  I  had  passed  to  some  distance,  and  did  not  un- 
derstand. It  sounded  like,  "Won't  you  come  in  and 
warm,  and  have  lunch."  I  hesitated  a  moment  in  the  biting 
wind,  then  retraced  my  steps  and  called  to  the  lad: 
"What's  that  you  said?" 

"It's  a  cold  day!"  yelled  the  scamp. 

I  was  mad  enough  to  unload  my  Winchester.  But  I 
didn't;  I  only  tucked  my  half- frozen  nose  in  my  mits, 
rubbed  my  ears,  and  continued  my  journey,  like  an  ice- 
covered  volcano.  A  mile  beyond  a  wagon  with  a  family 
in  it  passed  me,  and  the  man  said,  "Cold,  my  friend."  At 
dusk  a  farmer  inquired,  "Hasn't  it  been  a  pretty  frigid 
day  ?"  The  human  volcano  was  now  ready  to  burst.  So 
when  a  man  and  woman  warmly  clad  drove  by  in  a  buggy, 
with  top  up,  I  resolved  to  get  even.  I  shouted  several 
times  before  the  rig  stopped.  A  fur-clad  head  stuck  out 
to  one  side,  and  a  male  voice  called :  "Can't  hear  ye ;  come 
nearer."  I  ambled  up,  put  a  foot  on  the  hub  of  a  wheel, 
and  said,  "I  simply  want  to  say,  it's  a  cold  day." 

106 


A    PECULIAR   COLD    DAY 

"You— ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !" 

As  soon  as  he  had  finished,  I  said,  by  way  of  civil 
explanation :  "My  dear  sir,  do  you  know,  a  hundred  peo- 
ple have  stopped  me  to-day  and  told  me  it  is  cold.  I  have 
tramped  nearly  twenty  miles  without  stopping  to  warm  or 
eat;  and  I  resolved  to  let  the  next  fellow  have  the  same 
dose  I  have  been  taking  half-hourly  all  day.  Now,  if  you 
are  satisfied  that  it  is  a  cold  day,  I  will  bid  you  good 
night." 

With  this  I  returned  to  my  companions,  somewhat 
warmer  physically,  but  cooler  in  spirit. 

The  hotel  in  Cuyahoga  Falls  received  us  most  hospit- 
ably; I  never  shall  forget  the  kindnesses  of  its  landlady. 
The  village  dates  back  to  pioneer  days.  It  is  built  on  the 
hunting  grounds  of  the  old  Cuyahoga  Indians. 

Monday,  March  ist,  at  12:30  P.  M.,  we  arrived  in 
Canton. 

The  citizens  expected  my  arrival,  and  Market  street 
teemed  with  excitement.  In  front  of  two  hotels,  a  block 
apart,  stood  their  proprietors  waving  hats  and  arms,  and 
calling  to  me  to  be  their  guest.  I  was  puzzled  to  know 
which  invitation  to  accept.  While  deliberating,  one  of  the 
landlords  approached,  and  taking  my  arm,  led  me  to  his 
comfortable  hostelry,  where  he  royally  entertained  me  and 
my  animals. 

The  pageant  that  celebrated  the  departure  of  William 
McKinley  to  the  seat  of  Government  was  a  fair  estimate  of 
the  regard  in  which  his  fellow-citizens  held  him.  Canton 
did  him  honor.  I  witnessed  the  leave-taking  at  his  house, 
his  ride  to  the  train  in  the  coach  drawn  by  four  greys  un- 
der escort  of  a  band,  and  heard  him  deliver  his  farewell 
address  from  the  rear  platform  of  his  private  car. 

I  spent  Wednesday  night  in  Massillon,  and  next  morn- 
ing returned  to  Canton,  to  take  some  interior  protographs 

107 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

of  McKinley's  home.  I  was  successful,  beyond  my  hopes 
and  expectations,  securing  fine  pictures  of  his  study  and 
parlor.  The  President's  inauguration  at  Washington 
called  forth  a  deafening  demonstration.  Cannon  boomed, 
steam  whistles  shrieked,  and  the  citizens  shouted  and 
hurrahed,  and  I  was  glad  Mac  was  not  with  me  to  add 
his  salute. 

I  returned  to  Massillon,  and  at  4  :oo  P.  M.,  set  out  for 
Dalton  over  the  muddiest,  stickiest  red-clay  roads  I  ever 
encountered.  I  saw  a  meadow-lark  on  the  first  of  March ; 
this  day  I  heard  blue-birds  and  robins  singing  gaily.  It 
looked  as  though  spring  had  come  to  stay. 

I  expected  that  day  to  reach  Dalton,  only  eight  miles 
distant,  but  the  mud  prevented  me.  I  put  my  foot  in  it — 
the  genuine  red  and  yellow  mixture  of  real  Ohio  clay.  It 
was  so  deep,  and  sticky,  and  liberally  diluted  with  thawed 
frost  that  once  I  was  compelled  to  crawl  along  the  top  of 
a  rail  fence  two  hundred  feet  and  more,  and  drag  my 
jackass.  At  dusk  I  had  covered  only  three  miles.  Then 
I  sought  lodgings.  A  store  loomed  into  view  shortly ;  I 
was  elated.  According  to  the  sign  over  the  entrance,  the 
younger  generation  was  the  ruling  power.  It  read: 
"Hezekiah  Brimley  and  Father."  I  made  for  Hez.  He 
said  the  town  hadn't  reached  the  hotel  stage  of  develop- 
ment yet,  but  that  he  would  gladly  take  me  in,  provided 
I'd  sleep  with  his  clerk  in  the  garret. 

I  found  the  store  full  of  loungers,  who  patronized  the 
chairs,  soap  and  starch  boxes,  mackerel  kits  and  counter, 
forming  a  silent  circle  round  a  towering  stove  in  the  cen- 
ter. The  village  treasurer  wore  a  "boiled  shirt"  and  brass 
collar-buttons,  but  no  collar  or  coat.  His  companions 
were  generally  attired  in  flannel  shirts  of  different  hues 
and  patterns,  plush  caps,  which  might  be  formed  into  sev- 
eral shapes  and  styles,  and  felt  boots  encased  in  heavy 

108 


A   PECULIAR   COLD   DAY 

overshoes.  These  rural  men  eyed  me  with  suspicion  until 
I  mentioned  Mac  A'Rony.  Then  there  was  a  rush  to  the 
door.  As  it  swung  open,  in  leaped  my  great  dog ;  at  once 
the  crowd  surged  back  to  the  stove. 

"Does  yer  dorg  bite  ?"  came  several  queries  in  a  bunch. 

"No,"  I  said.  "He  has  killed  a  bull,  chewed  up  a  ram, 
made  Thanks-giving  mince-meat  of  several  dogs,  chased 
a  pig  up  a  tree,  and  only  this  morning  ate  two  chickens 
and  a  duck  and  chased  a  farmer  into  his  hay  loft..  But  he 
doesn't  bite." 

My  statement  had  a  sensational  effect  on  the  assembly, 
who,  one  by  one,  sneaked  out  of  the  door,  leaving  Hez  and 
his  odd  guest  alone.  As  soon  as  the  junior  member,  Hez's 
father,  came  in,  Hez  took  my  animals  to  the  shed  and  fed 
them,  and  told  me  to  help  myself  to  the  best  in  the  store. 
"Ye  know  what  ye  want ;  I  don't." 

Hez  said  he  was  sorry  he  was  just  out  of  butter  and 
bread.  I  was  sorry,  too.  Wishing  a  light  supper,  I  se- 
lected one  yeast  cake  (warranted  104  per  cent,  pure),  a 
pint  of  corned  oysters  (light  weight),  some  crackers,  and 
leaf  lard,  to  take  the  place  of  butter,  and  a  cake  of  bitter 
chocolate.  I  left  a  few  things  unmolested ;  such  as  soap, 
cornstarch,  cloves,  baking-powder  and  stove-polish. 

My  assorted  supper  went  down  all  right  until  I  tackled 
the  chocolate.  Chocolate  is  a  favorite  beverage  of  mine ; 
besides,  I  wanted  a  hot  drink.  To  be  good,  chocolate  must 
be  well  dissolved.  No  pot  was  to  be  had,  save  a  flower- 
pot with  a  hole  in  the  bottom.  A  great  idea  popped  into 
my  head.  I  would  drink  chocolate  on  the  instalment 
plan.  Did  you  ever  try  it  ?  If  not,  don't  let  your  curiosity 
get  the  better  of  you. 

Chocolate  belongs  to  the  bean  family,  and  the  bean  is  a 
very  treacherous  thing — chocolate  bean,  castor-oil  bean, 
pork-bean,  and  all  kinds.  I  first  ate  the  cake  of  chocolate, 

109 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

then  some  sugar,  and  drank  two  dippersful  of  hot  water, — 
then  shook  myself.  That  mixture  might  suit  my  stomach, 
I  thought,  but  it  doesn't  delight  my  palate.  I  felt  I  had 
eaten  a  heavy  meal  unwittingly,  and  sat  down  to  digest  it. 
I  hadn't  sat  long  before  I  felt  myself  swelling.  Something 
within  was  sizzling  and  brewing  and  steaming;  gas  and 
steam  choked  me.  I  was  sure  there  was  going  to  be  a 
demonstration  in  my  honor  that  I  had  not  bargained  for. 
The  yeast  cake  came  to  mind ;  then  I  knew  the  cause.  My 
body  grew  warm,  and  finally  I  was  so  hot  that  I  had  to  go 
to  the  garret  and  take  a  cold  bath ;  after  which  I  excused 
myself  to  the  clerk,  and  went  to  bed,  and  dreamed  I  was 
being  cremated  alive. 

Next  morning,  on  invitation  of  the  superintendent,  I 
visited  the  Pocock  Coal  Mine,  situated  close  by,-  and  had 
an  enjoyable  trip  through  its  subterranean  passages. 


no 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

This  day  Dame  Nature  seemed  in  love : 
The  lusty  sap  began  to  move ; 
Fresh  juice  did  stir  th'  embracing  Vines, 
And  birds  had  drawn  their  Valentines. 

— The  Complete  Angler. 

It  was  noon  when  I  started  for  Dalton,  three  miles 
away,  and  night  before  we  arrived  there.  The  mud 
oozed  into  my  overshoes,  and  I  made  Mac  carry  me  and 
my  grip.  .  I  delivered  a  lecture,  whose  receipts  about  de- 
frayed my  expenses,  and  was  presented  a  pair  of  rubber 
boots  by  a  man  frank  enough  to  admit  the  boots  didn't  fit 
him. 

We  spent  the  Sabbath  in  Wooster.  While  strolling 
down  its  main  street  with  my  dog,  I  suddenly  came  upon 
a  captive  coyote,  which  defied  Don,  who  ran  off  in  a 
fright.  That  monster  canine  fell  considerably  in  my  es- 
timation. I  wondered  what  he  would  do  when  our  camps 
on  the  plains  were  surrounded  with  a  hundred  of  these 
yelping  beasts. 

Wooster,  rather  a  pretty  town,  is  the  seat  of  a  univer- 
sity. The  word  "seat"  reminds  me  that  I  needed  a  pair 
of  trousers.  The  rainy  season  had  set  in,  and  I  wanted  a 
reserve  pair.  Otherwise,  when  my  only  pair  got  soaked 
I  must  go  to  bed  until  they  dried.  I  walked  into  a  Jewish 
clothier's,  and,  selecting  a  pair  of  corduroys,  inquired, 
"How  much?" 

"Two  dollahs  ond  a  hollaf,"  said  the  merchant.  He  in- 
formed me  that  in  Mansfield  the  same  "pants"  would  cost 

in 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

$3,  in  Fort  Wayne  $5,  in  Chicago  $7,  etc."  I  said  that 
according  to  his  way  of  reckoning  I  could  have  purchased 
the  same  kind  of  trousers  in  Dalton  for  $2,  in  Massillon 
for  $i,  and  in  Canton  for  a  song.  My  argument  stag- 
gered him,  but  he  soon  recovered,  and  showed  me  a 
great  colored  picture,  repiesenting  a  pair  of  cordu- 
roys, one  leg  chained  to  an  elephant,  the  other  hooked  to  a 
locomotive,  and  both  powers  working  in  opposite  direc- 
tions to  part  those  wonderful  trousers. 

"Just  vot  you  vant  vor  riding  a  jockoss;  can't  bull 
abart ;  vy,  my  dear  sir,  it's  a  bargain."  That  was  a  strong 
argument ;  I  bought  the  "pants." 

Passing  on  through  Jeromeville  and  Miffiin,  we  reached 
Mansfield,  the  home  of  Senator  Sherman;  and  sixteen 
miles  beyond  Galion.  That  lovely  spring  day,  with  the 
birds  chirping  merrily  in  the  trees,  my  pilgrimage  seemed 
unusually  irksome.  Next  day  was  my  birthday,  and  I  re- 
solved to  make  it  a  holiday. 

I  enjoyed  a  day  of  recreation,  so  did  my  donkey  and 
dog,  and  in  the  evening  delivered  a  lecture  on  my  travels 
before  a  campaign  league  at  its  club  house. 

On  Friday  morning  I  started  for  the  town  of  Marion, 
twenty-six  miles  away.  Many  citizens  of  Galion  as- 
sembled to  see  us  off.  Mac  and  Don  were  impatient  for 
the  journey,  and  amused  the  crowd  by  pulling  each  other's 
whiskers.  I  had  boasted  of  having  trained  Mac  A'Rony 
to  follow  me.  When  I  set  out  with  a  wave  of  my  hat  and 
a  beckon  to  my  partner,  he  responded  promptly,  and  for 
some  distance  verified  my  boasts.  He  never  before  had 
acted  so  tractable.  Suddenly,  a  cheer  sounded  in  the  dis- 
tance, and,  turning,  I  beheld  that  asinine  rascal  making 
back  to  town  on  a  hop-skip-and-jump.  How  the  crowd 
did  yell!  It  was  a  circus  for  them.  Mac  certainly  had 
rested  too  long  and  eaten  too  many  oats.  The  only  time 

112 


I  BARGAIN  FOR  EGGS 

I  got  ahead  of  him  was  when  I  photographed  him.  I 
did  not  upbraid  him,  but  when  I  readjusted  my  scattered 
belongings  and  whirled  the  whip  over  his  head,  he  moved 
forward  with  utmost  humility. 

At  Caledonia,  I  took  advantage  of  the  farmers'  mar- 
ket day  and  sold  a  large  number  of  photos  at  a  good  price. 
I  could  not  appear  anywhere  on  the  street  without  some 
rural  stranger  stopping  me  to  shake  hands  and  purchase  a 
chromo.  Saturday  evening  I  lectured  to  a  crowded 
house. 

It  was  4 130  P.  M.  Sunday  before  I  started  to  Kenton, 
twenty-seven  miles  beyond.  When  nearly  there,  I  passed 
a  small  farm  whose  rural  incumbent  came  to  the  fence 
to  question  me. 

"Coin'  ter  show  to-night?"  he  inquired. 

"Nope,"  I  answered,  and  kept  Mac  A'Rony  moving. 

"Hold  a  minute ! — Be  ye  travelin'  er  goin'  somewhere  ?" 
the  man  persisted,  as  he  leaned  over  the  fence-rail.  He 
interested  me. 

"When  you  see  people  walking,"  I  returned,  bringing 
my  donkey  to  halt,  "you  can  take  it  for  granted,  they 
are  going  somewhere." 

The  lonesome-looking  farmer  was  the  first  I  had  met 
who  was  neither  busy  at  work  nor  whittling.  Gray  locks 
fell  wantonly  over  his  ears.  His  faded  coat,  blue  over- 
alls and  felt  boots  exhibited  signs  of  a  persistent  conflict 
with  farm  implements,  hooking  cows,  kicking  horses,  and 
a  rich  clayey  soil.  A  cow  and  two  hogs  eyed  my  donkey 
and  dog  with  contempt  through  the  bars  of  the  barnyard 
fence.  I  observed  that  all  the  buildings,  including  the 
house,  were  of  logs.  The  man,  judging  from  his  prop- 
erty, didn't  have  a  dollar  in  the  world,  but  had  great  ex- 
pectations. He  asked  if  I  had  any  books  to  sell.  I  had 
one,  a  copy  of  a  volume  I  had  published,  several  of  which 

113 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

I  had  sold  on  my  journey  at  a  good  price.  I  had  lost 
fifteen  valuable  minutes  talking  with  the  man,  and  re- 
solved to  get  even.  While  wondering  what  I  could  take  in 
exchange  for  the  book,  a  hen  cackled. 

"Certainly.    I  have  a  book  to  sell,"  I  said. 

"How  much  is  it?" 

"Dollar  and  a  half." 

"I'd  buy  it,"  said  the  farmer,  longingly,  "but  I  hain't 
got  the  price." 

"Have  you  got  any  eggs  ?"  I  asked. 

"Dozens  of  'em.    How  many  kin  ye  suck  at  a  sittin'  ?" 

"I  don't  wish  to  suck  them ;  I  want  them  to  sell,"  I  re- 
plied. "How  much  do  you  ask  a  dozen  ?" 

"Six  cents,"  he  answered. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I  will  trade  the  book  for  ten  dozen.  Is 
that  a  bargain  ?  It  looks  like  a  cinch  for  you." 

"I  meant  a  book  about  yer  travels  t'  San  Francisco,"  he 
explained,  as  he  looked  far  away. 

"Well,  that's  just  what  it  is,"  I  returned,  bound  to  make 
a  sale,  or  die  in  the  attempt.  "Tells  all  about  them :  how 
robbers  shot  at  me  in  York  State,  bull  chased  me  down 
a  well  in  Pennsylvania,  dog  worried  me  up  a  tree  in 
Illinois,  cowboys  rescued  me  from  Indians  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  grizzly  bear  hugged " 

"Whew,"  ejaculated  the  man.  "Thet's  what  I  want. 
Ye  got  yer  book  aout  purty  soon.  Wait  till  I  go  and  fetch 
th'  eggs."  And  the  apparently  ignorant  man  disappeared, 
soon  to  re-appear  with  a  paper  sack  full  of  hen  fruit. 

"Fresh  ?"  I  inquired,  as  I  tied  the  fragile  bundle  to  the 
saddle-horn. 

"Couldn't  be  fresher,"  was  the  positive  answer.  "Some 
laid  terday,  some  yisterday,  but  most  on  'em  ter-morrer." 
Then  observing  my  arched  brows,  he  added,  "Yaas — yer 
thunk  I  was  a  know-nuthin',  and  I  let  yer  think  so,"  'cause 

114 


I  BARGAIN  FOR  EGGS 

yer  need  'couragement.  And  I  say  agin,  most  on  'em  was 
laid  ter-morrer,  and  th'  best  on  'em  is  rooster  eggs." 

I  delivered  the  book,  feeling  the  farmer  had  somewhat 
the  better  of  me  after  all,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
because  a  man  looks  primitive,  and  lives  in  primitive  style, 
he  is  not  necessarily  of  primitive  intellect. 

Mac  joined  in  a  pleasant  adieu  to  Mr.  Bosh,  and  we 
sauntered  on,  I,  behind,  deeply  absorbed  in  thought.  We 
hadn't  proceeded  a  half  mile,  however,  before  Mac  shied 
at  a  bunch  of  hay,  and  ran  plumb  against  a  rail-fence ;  in 
a  jiffy  that  jackass  looked  like  an  egg-nog.  There  is  no 
word  coined  to  express  my  eggs-ass-peration. 

When  I  caught  the  scapegrace,  it  required  a  half  hour 
to  make  him  and  the  saddle  look  the  least  respectable.  I 
stopped  at  the  next  farm  house,  where  a  windmill  sup- 
plied me  with  the  water  to  wash  the  outfit,  and  I  signed 
a  pledge  never  to  have  anything  to  do  with  shell  games  of 
any  kind.  They  always  get  the  better  of  you. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Every  one  who  has  petted  a  favorite  donkey  will  remember 
many  traits  of  its  mental  capacities;  for,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
domestic  fool,  there  is  far  more  knavery  than  folly  about  the 
creature. — Wood's  Natural  History. 

It  was  a  sunny  spring  day  when  I  arrived  in  Kenton. 
After  supper  with  a  young  physician,  on  his  invitation,  I 
retired,  and  next  day  set  out  for  Ada,  a  village  sixteen 
miles  away.  Toward  evening,  being  tired  and  almost 
without  funds,  I  sat  down  to  converse  with  a  farmer  who 
was  husking  corn.  He  soon  became  interested  in  my  trip, 
and  said  if  I  would  help  him  husk  awhile  he  would  feed 
me  and  my  animals.  I  gladly  consented;  Mac  A'Rony 
and  Don  lent  their  assistance,  the  donkey  soon  losing  his 
appetite.  After  a  delicious  supper  with  the  farmer's  fam- 
ily, I  hastened  on,  reaching  Ada  long  after  dark. 

Ada  is  the  seat  of  a  Normal  School,  which  is  the  seat  of 
a  large  number  of  other  seats.  Everybody  seemed  to  be 
much  concerned  about  the  great  fistic  bout  to  take  place  in 
Carson  City  that  day;  the  i/th  of  March.  It  was  "St. 
Patrick's  Day  in  the  morning,"  with  the  weather  threaten- 
ing, when  I  started  for  Lima.  My  coat  was  decorated 
with  cabbage  and  lettuce  leaves  and  paper  imitations  of 
shamrock,  and  I  looked  like  an  animated  vegetable  gar- 
den. Finally  it  rained ;  and  the  road  became  a  mire. 

I  had  just  finished  a  heated  argument  on  the  Carson 
fight,  and  began  to  question  the  story  of  how  St.  Patrick 
drove  the  snakes  out  of  Ireland,  when  I  suddenly  found 

116 


GYPSY    GIRL   TELLS    FORTUNE 

myself  on  the  ground.  And  I  saw  the  streak  of  daylight 
Mac  threatened  to  kick  into  my  brain. 

An  old  man  tried  to  drive  a  colt  past  my  strange-look- 
ing outfit.  I  called  to  him  to  hold  his  horse  by  the  bit 
until  I  could  lead  my  donkey  into  the  field.  But  no,  he 
could  handle  the  colt,  or  any  other  horse,  and  I  should 
mind  my  own  business.  On  the  rig  came  a  few  yards 
nearer,  when  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  colt  whirled 
and  upset  the  buggy  with  its  boastful  driver.  The  man 
was  not  hurt ;  but  somewhat  dazed.  Several  farmers  soon 
arrived  and  were  loud  in  their  abuse,  saying  Mac  and  I 
had  no  right  on  the  highway.  It  was  an  effort  for  the 
donkey  to  keep  his  mouth  shut.  I  replied,  civilly,  that  I 
was  sorry  the  thing  occurred,  and  explained  how  I  had 
warned  the  stranger. 

Then  I  whipped  up  my  unjustly  abused  partner,  and 
left  the  old  man  pulling  his  beard  thoughtfully  in  the 
midst  of  the  sympathetic  group.  All  day  I  strode  far  in 
advance  of  my  donkey  and  led  untrained,  untamed,  and 
frightened  horses  past. 

Next  day  being  stormy,  I  devoted  the  morning  to  writ- 
ing my  newspaper  article  and  answering  some  urgent  let- 
ters ;  then,  failing  to  arrange  for  a  lecture,  I  left  Lima  for 
Delphos,  and  tramped  fifteen  miles  in  mud  and  rain  with- 
out lunch. 

We  spent  Saturday  night  in  Van  Wert,  and  Sunday  af- 
ternoon resumed  the  journey  in  sunshine,  people  crowd- 
ing their  front  windows  and  doorways  to  see  us  leave 
town.  We  had  not  proceeded  far  when  I  met  an  odd  trio 
who  had  run  half  a  mile  across  lots  to  speak  to  me.  One 
boy  had  a  twisted  foot ;  another,  a  hand  minus  five  or  six 
fingers;  and  the  third  acknowledged  that  as  soon  as  he 
caught  sight  of  us  he  lost  his  head.  Considering  their 

117 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

crippled  condition,  I  thought  they  deserved  credit  for  such 
activity. 

It  was  eight  miles  to  Convoy.  There  was  no  bottom  to 
the  road.  Seeking  a  footing  along  the  fence,  I  ground  in- 
numerable land  crabs  into  the  mud,  while  the  peepers  in 
the  swampy  clearings  piped  their  dismal  music.  At  dusk 
we  waded  into  the  village  where  a  curious  throng  awaited 
the  sensation  of  the  day.  And  there  we  spent  the  night. 

The  nearer  I  approached  the  Indiana  border,  the  more 
impoverished  appeared  the  farms  and  their  struggling 
proprietors.  Every  other  farm-house  was  the  primitive 
log-cabin,  and  the  barns  and  outbuildings  generally  tallied 
with  the  house. 

A  thunderstorm  awoke  me  at  day-break;  the  prospect 
for  my  day's  tramp  was  most  dismal.  After  walking  six 
miles,  I  stopped  to  talk  with  a  party  of  gypsies,  in  camp. 
Presently  a  black-eyed  gypsy  girl  issued  from  a  heap 
of  bedding  under  a  tree,  and  inquired  if  Mac  A'Rony  was 
an  ostrich.  Her  heavy  jet-black  hair  fell  in  a  mass  over 
her  shoulders,  and  her  sparkling  eyes  did  their  level  best 
to  enchant  me,  as  she  asked  to  tell  my  fortune. 

"How  much?"  I  asked. 

Her  grizzled  sire  said  fifty  cents ;  the  daughter  cor- 
rected him,  saying  one  dollar.  That  was  too  steep  for  me. 
I  gave  Mac  the  rein  and  proceeded  some  distance  when 
the  girl  called  to  me,  "Twenty-five  cents!  Come  back!" 
This  was  an  alluring  proposition,  and  I  returned.  At 
once  dismissing  the  bystanders,  she  reached  over  the  fence 
for  my  hand,  told  me  to  place  a  quarter  in  it,  then  to  close 
and  open  it.  I  no  sooner  obeyed  than  the  coin  disap- 
peared, and  the  gypsy  began  in  a  charming  manner,  as 
follows : 

"That  line  shows  you  will  live  to  a  good  old  age.  You 
are  to  enjoy  your  best  days  in  the  future.  Understand 

n8 


GYPSY    GIRL    TELLS    FORTUNE 

me  ?  If  your  pocket  was  as  big  as  your  heart  you  would 
make  many  others  happy.  Understand  me  ?"  She  surely 
must  mean  creditors,  I  thought.  "Yes,"  I  answered. 

"Shows  it  in  your  face,"  said  she.  "You  have  for  a 
long  time  disliked  your  business"  (that  was  no  lie),  "and 
want  to  change  it.  Understand  me?  You  make  friends 
easily,  and  wherever  you  go  you  are  invited  to  come  again. 
Understand  me?"  I  nodded.  "Shows  it  in  your  face." 
I  began  to  think  she  was  reading  my  countenance  instead 
of  my  hand. 

"Are  you  married  ?"  she  asked.  "No,  but  want  to  be," 
I  replied. 

'  "Shows  it  in  your  face,"  said  she.  "A  widow  lady  is  in 
love  with  you.  She  has  written  you,  and  you  will  get  her 
letter  soon.  Her  name  is  Sarah.  Understand  me  ?" 

"I  do  not,"  said  I;  "I  know  but  one  woman  named 
Sarah.  Heaven  help  me  if  she  is  after  me !" 

"Shut  your  hand  now,  and  make  a  wish,"  said  the  girl. 

I  did  as  she  bade,  and  wished  long  and  hard. 

"Now  open,"  said  she.  Her  black  eyes  seemed  to 
pierce  my  very  soul.  "You  wish  to  make  fame  and  for- 
tune. Understand  me?" 

"True,  I  do,"  I  said  to  her ;  that's  just  what  every  man 
wishes,  I  said  to  myself.  Then  she  continued : 

You  will  make  fame  and  fortune  in  the  business  you 
are  now  in.  Shows  it  in  your  face."  I  wasn't  satisfied 
with  that  prediction ;  I  preferred  the  fortune  to  be  in  my 
pocket. 

"A  kiss  is  awaiting  you  from  a  black-haired  girl  within 
two  weeks'  time.  She  loves  you.  A  lot  of  girls  want  you, 
but  they  can't  have  you.  Understand  me  ?" 

"I  confess  that  I  don't  quite,"  I  answered.  "But  I  wish 
those  poor  girls  did."  And  I  looked  real  serious. 

"Shows  it  in  your  face,"  she  repeated.    That  fortune 

119 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

teller  puzzled  me.  The  quarter's  worth  of  seance  at  an 
end,  I  plodded  on  toward  the  Hoosier  country  with  my 
mute  comrades,  wondering  how  much  of  the  fortune 
would  come  true. 

Soon  afterward  we  got  out  of  the  mud  area  and  came 
to  a  hard,  smooth,  broken-stone  road.  I  stopped  my 
donkey  and  sat  down  to  take  off  my  rubber  boots.  Just 
when  I  got  the  first  shoe  on,  Mac  began  to  move  down 
the  level  turnpike.  I  called,  "Whoa,  Mac !  Huh ! !  You 
long-eared  Mephisto!"  The  jackass  paid  no  heed,  but 
galloped  on,  shaking  his  head  and  kicking  up  his  heels 
merrily  with  the  dog  in  front  of  him,  barking  as  if  he  en- 
joyed Mac's  practical  joke.  By  this  time  I  was  speeding 
after  the  runaway,  a  boot  on  one  foot,  a  shoe  on  the  other, 
and  chased  a  half  mile  before  I  caught  him.  Then  I  led 
him  back  for  my  footgear. 

Two  miles  beyond  we  again  struck  mud,  thick  and  deep. 
Observing  a  little  mound  covered  with  long  dried  grass,  I 
sat  down  again  to  change  my  footgear.  Mac  turned  and 
eyed  me  mischievously,  and  wobbled  his  ears,  then  nodded 
to  Don.  I  was  so  absorbed  with  the  idea  that  he  intended 
to  lead  me  another  chase  that  I  failed  to  hear  an  ominous 
sound  emanating  from  underneath  my  seat.  Not  until 
something  semed  to  burn  me  did  I  rise  to  the  occasion, 
and  light  out,  this  time  stocking  foot,  but  making  less 
speed  through  the  black  and  sticky  highway  than  on  my 
former  run. 

Something  less  than  a  million  bees  swarmed  about  my 
head.  I  ran!  Oh,  how  I  ran!  And  I  would  be  running 
still,  perhaps,  had  not  a  farmer  seen  me  and  knocked  down 
the  swarm  with  a  section  of  a  rail  fence.  I  was  quite  out 
of  breath.  The  hero  had  only  spared  my  life  for  future 
tortures. 

120 


"I  scrutinized  his  hat  inquisitively." 


GYPSY    GIRL   TELLS    FORTUNE 

After  considerable  search,  I  found  boots  and  shoes,  but 
failed  to  see  either  dog  or  donkey.  Putting  on  my  boots, 
I  hung  my  shoes  on  the  fence,  and  set  out  on  the  trail  of 
the  fugitives,  which  appeared  to  have  gone  into  the  brush. 
I  waded  into  the  thicket,  calling  Don  all  the  time,  and  at 
last  was  rewarded.  He  leaped  at  me  delightedly,  and 
barked,  and  tugged  at  my  trouser  legs,  and  piloted  me  to 
the  terrified  donkey  which  I  found  tangled  in  a  mass  of 
wild  raspberry  bushes,  his  head  tucked  between  his  fore- 
legs, and  his  back  doubled  up  like  a  cat  at  bay.  There 
were  no  bees  on  Mac. 

That  was  a  hot  experience,  for  a  raw  March  day.  I 
plodded  on  through  the  mire  to  the  house,  whose  proprie- 
tor had  come  to  my  rescue.  The  dooryard  was  filled  with 
hives. 

"Regular  bee  ranch,"  I  remarked,  pleasantly,  though  I 
burned  uncomfortably. 

"Yas.    Right  smart  business,"  the  man  returned. 

"You're  right ;  bees  do  a  smart  business." 

"Lived  on  'em  nigh  ten  years." 

"You  must  find  them  a  hot  diet !"  I  said.  "I  lived  on 
a  nest  of  them  less  than  half  a  minute  and  nearly  burned 
up." 

"I  reckon  so,"  he  replied  with  a  chuckle.  "I  saw  yer 
scorchin'." 

It  was  2 130  P.  M.  when  we  crossed  the  state  line.  The 
first  sight  that  greeted  my  eyes  in  Indiana  was  a  flock  of 
Ohio  geese  just  ahead  of  us,  being  driven  by  a  hoosier. 

"Fine  drove  of  geese  you've  got  there,"  I  said  to  the 
man. 

"Yaw,"  he  answered.  "But  Ohio  geese  is  peculiar. 
Gooses  won't  run  with  th'  ganders.." 

"No?"  I  queried.    "What's  the  reason  they  won't?" 

121 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

"Wall,  jest  th'  way  they's  built.  Won't  run— jest  fly, 
er  waddle." 

"What  most  all  geese  do,  don't  they?"  I  asked,  much 
amused. 

"Yaw,"  reiterated  the  hoosier,  grinning;  "jest  fly,  or 
waddle." 


122 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Get  money;  still  get  money,  boy,  no  matter  by  what  means.— 
Ben  Jonson. 

Indiana  swamps,  woodland,  corn  fields  and  log  cabins 
were  not  unlike  those  of  Ohio.  On  arriving  in  New 
Haven  two  hours  after  dark,  I  was  quite  tired  out,  and  I 
think  my  companions  were,  too.  We  had  tramped  all  day 
without  dinner  over  a  road  alternately  hard  and  muddy. 
I  would  have  stopped  to  rest  at  a  small  place  called  Zulu, 
but  the  name  sounded  so  cannibalistic  that  I  looked  to  my 
firearms  and  hurried  past. 

Next  day  I  registered  in  Fort  Wayne.  After  calling 
on  the  genial  Mayor,  I  set  out  to  inspect  the  city  and  see 
what  my  chances  were,  for  I  found  the  outlook  for  my 
delivering  a  lecture  discouraging,  and,  although  for  sev- 
eral days  I  had  barely  made  expenses,  did  not  attempt 
money-making  there. 

Fort  Wayne  is  notable  for  its  great  car-shops  and  the 
Indiana  School  for  the  Feeble  Minded.  In  the  morning 
I  boarded  a  car  and  rode  a  mile  and  a  half  out  of  town  to 
the  latter.  The  large  building  of  brick  and  terra  cotta, 
viewed  in  its  expansive  setting  of  well-groomed  lawn 
and  gay  parterres,  presented  a  picture  of  architectural 
beauty. 

The  superintendent  welcomed  me  cordially,  although  it 
was  not  visitors'  day,  and  graciously  showed  me  through 
the  interesting  institution.  Its  neatness,  the  clock-work 
regularity  with  which  the  several  departments  are  con- 
ducted, and  the  great  variety  and  detail  of  the  mode  of 

123 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

instruction  given  the  550  idiotic  inmates  were  a  revelation 
to  me.  Many  of  the  advanced  scholars  were  making  and 
mending  their  clothes  and  bedding ;  something  I  couldn't 
do,  I  fear.  The  idiots  are  carefully  attended  day  and 
night.  Never  before  did  I  see  a  natural-born  bald-headed 
person.  Here  was  one,  a  funny-looking  girl,  and  I  was 
told  she  had  several  brothers,  sisters,  parents,  uncles  and 
aunts,  all  bald  from  birth — a  distinguished  family  indeed. 
I  wondered  whether  her  disappointment  was  as  great  as 
that  of  Pye  Pod,  who  once  possessed  a  head  of  hair,  then 
lost  it.  I  have  heard  it  said  people  who  never  had  money 
know  not  its  value,  and  presume  its  so  with  their  heirs. 

For  mortals  deprived  of  reason  the  place  is  surprisingly 
quiet.  The  halls  are  tiled,  the  floors  of  the  rooms  are 
waxed,  and  all  are  so  slippery  that  the  inmates  are  un- 
able to  romp,  which  is  probably  the  reason  for  such  still- 
ness. Whenever  they  gain  sense  enough  to  be  boisterous 
like  sane  and  healthy  children,  they  instantly  fall  on  their 
craniums  on  the  polished  floor  and  are  rendered  insensible. 

I  was  interested  in  a  group  of  little  girls  who  were  be- 
ing taught  a  game.  One  wee  child  with  a  big  head — big- 
ger than  I  had  ever  been  accredited  with — was  sitting  in 
an  invalid's  chair  with  her  head  resting  in  an  iron  prop, 
because  it  was  too  heavy  for  one  body  to  support  in  those 
hard  times,  and  seated  around  in  ordinary  chairs  were 
epileptic,  paralytic,  cross-grained  idiots,  etc.,  so  far  ad- 
vanced toward  health  and  sanity  by  careful  training  as 
to  play  a  game. 

While  the  great  object  of  this  school  is  to  provide  the 
unfortunates  with  a  comfortable  home  and  prevent  inter- 
marriage, a  few  are  graduated  every  year  and  transferred 
to  the  large  farm  owned  by  the  institution.  I  heard  the 
Feeble  Minded  Brass  Band  play;  its  music  I  thought 
quite  equal  to  that  of  many  normal  bands  I  had  heard. 

124 


ALL  THE   DEVILS   ARE   HERE 

The  birthdays  of  great  men  (excepting  that  of  Pythagoras 
Pod),  are  celebrated,  and  birthday  parties  given. 

The  superintendent  drove  me  back  to  town  and  urged 
me  to  fetch  my  donkey  out  to  entertain  the  idiots,  and 
invited  me  to  dine  with  him.  So  not  telling  Mac  about 
the  place,  I  rode  him  to  the  Home,  where  I  found  my  host 
and  his  assistants  ready  to  receive  us. 

"Shylock  there  will  assist  you,"  said  the  superintendent, 
pointing  to  a  hump-backed  inmate. 

When  we  got  Mac  to  the  hall  entrance  the  circus  began. 
Two  attendants  helped  Shylock  boost  the  donkey  while 
I  guided  his  head,  and  we  managed  to  pitch  the  beast 
headlong  into  the  slippery  hall,  where  he  landed  three 
times  in  succession — first,  on  his  knees  and  heels,  second, 
on  his  tail,  and  third,  on  his  back.  I  think  he  imagined 
he  was  on  ice,  for  he  lay  perfectly  still,  afraid  to  move. 

The  hall  floor  was  cleared,  but  a  bunch  of  idiotic  heads 
stuck  out  of  every  doorway,  and  peals  of  hyenish  laugh- 
ter reverberated  through  the  building.  Finally  we  got 
Mac  on  all  fours,  and  I  rode  him  slowly  down  the  hall 
amid  the  hysterical  shouts  and  screams  of  the  physically 
strong,  if  feeble-minded  children,  and  talking,  yelling  and 
commanding  attendants,  all  of  which  so  frightened  my 
sensitive  mount  that  he  squatted  down  on  the  floor, 
rolled  over  on  his  side,  and  brayed.  Did  you  ever  hear 
an  ass  bray  in  any  confined  space  ?  It  is  awful !  These  un- 
manageable pupils  and  their  overtaxed  preceptors  fairly 
went  mad,  while  Mac  yelled,  "Hell  is  empty,  and  all  the 
devils  are  here!" 

The  hall  was  now  a  swarming,  uncontrollable  mass  of 
unbridled  lunacy  in  human  mould;  romping,  tumbling, 
fainting,  and  taxing  the  united  strength  and  strategy  of 
the  surprised  officials  to  bring  order  out  of  chaos.  The 
jackass  went  into  a  veritable  fit,  kicked  the  plaster  off  the 

125 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

walls,  shattered  an  incandescent  light  globe,  nearly  rolled 
on  top  of  an  idiot  who  took  him  for  a  pussy  cat,  and 
brayed  himself  hoarse.  Suddenly  he  leaped  to  his  feet 
and  ran  akiting  down  the  tiled  hall  floor  until  it  turned ; 
then  he  tried  to  turn,  and  flopping  off  his  feet,  came  down 
on  his  vertebrae.  As  soon  as  we  could  get  him  out  of  doors, 
I  handed  him  over  to  Shylock  and  went  into  dinner  with 
the  laughing  superintendent.  I  never  want  another  ex- 
perience like  that.  The  disappointing  feature  about  the 
show  was  that  probably  not  one  idiot  would  remember  it 
over  to  the  next  day. 

The  following  morning  my  party  set  out  over  a  black 
muddy  road.  Thrifty  looking  farm-houses,  many  of 
them  of  brick,  were  scattered  along  our  route,  and  sheep 
and  cattle  basked  in  the  sunshine  on  the  south  side  of 
strawstacks,  often  attracting  wistful  glances  from  my 
long-eared  partner.  Arriving  at  Churubusco,  I  put  up  at 
a  comfortable  hotel  near  the  railroad  where  the  noisy  pass- 
ing trains  kept  me  awake  most  of  the  night,  and  resumed 
the  journey  next  day,  after  lunch. 

Some  four  miles  beyond  the  village  we  came  to  a  new 
iron  bridge,  without  its  approaches  filled  in.  No  work- 
men were  about.  A  single  two-by-twelve  plank  was 
stretched  from  the  bank  to  the  bridge  at  both  ends  to  en- 
able people  to  cross,  but  evidently  quadrupeds  were  sup- 
posed to  ford  or  swim  the  stream.  I  tarried  some  mo- 
ments thinking  what  best  to  do,  when  presently  a  country- 
man happened  by,  and  helped  me  carry  a  plank  from  the 
roadside  to  widen  the  bridge  approach  for  my  donkey  to 
walk. 

What  an  ass  Mac  was !  He  attempted  to  walk  the  planks 
sideways,  and  consequently  fell  into  the  deep  miry  hole, 
almost  into  the  stream.  I  feared  he  had  broken  his  back, 
but  he  escaped  injury..  The  farmer  helped  me  uncinch 

126 


ALL  THE   DEVILS   ARE   HERE 

the  saddle  and  get  Mac  up  the  steep  bank  on  to  the  road ; 
then  we  transferred  the  plank  at  the  other  end  of  the 
bridge  to  that  end  and  made  a  three-plank  foot-bridge. 
Finally  we  got  Mac  on  to  the  bridge  proper,  and  by  trans- 
ferring the  three  planks  to  the  other  end  I  managed  to 
overcome  the  obstacle,  and  proceeded  on  the  journey,  af- 
ter the  loss  of  two  hours.  My  hat  had  anticipated  the 
animal  into  the  hole  and  was  flattened  by  his  weight; 
thereafter  it  supported  a  gable  roof. 

Two  hours  after  dark  we  came  to  a  barn  that  looked 
roomy  and  airy,  and  as  the  next  town  beyond  Wolf  Lake 
was  so  far  away,  I  concluded  we  might  as  well  take  pos- 
session of  it  for  the  night,  The  barn  door  wasn't  locked, 
so  I  led  my  animals  in,  and  struck  a  match.  No  horses 
were  visible,  but  a  box  stall  contained  a  cow  and  a  calf. 
Prowling  about  with  lighted  matches,  I  discovered  a  buck 
sheep,  hiding  behind  his  wool  in  fear  of  my  bij{  dog.  I 
found  a  measure  of  grain  for  Mac  and  assigned  Don  to  a 
pile  of  hay  near  the  door,  then  tucked  myself  in  some 
straw  and  drew  my  mackintosh  over  my  shoulders,  pre- 
pared for  a  night's  rest. 

I  was  almost  asleep  when  the  calf  bawled ;  again  when 
on  the  brink  of  Lethe,  the  sheep  bleated.  Suddenly  my 
restless  donkey  kicked  a  board  off  the  side  of  the  barn  and 
set  Don  to  barking.  I  yelled,  "Shut  up !"  Again  the  dog 
barked.  The  next  second  he  made  a  leap  in  the  dark,  fol- 
lowed by  a  loud  commotion,  and  at  once  the  atmosphere 
indicated  plainly  what  kind  of  an  animal  the  dog  was 
after.  I  couldn't  get  out  of  the  door  without  running  the 
lines,  which  seemed  perilous  indeed.  Mac  kicked  and 
brayed  as  he  never  had  before,  and  my  dog  was  running 
round  the  barn  trying  to  get  away  from  the  atmosphere 
or  something.  And  I  was  as  busy  as  the  rest  endeavoring 
to  bury  myself  in  the  straw.  Presently  the  dog  and  the 

127 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

buck  sheep  went  to  settling  some  misunderstanding,  fight- 
ing like  demons.  The  cow  and  calf  then  began  to  bellow 
in  a  discordant  duet,  and  fearing  lest  any  moment  the 
cow  would  break  the  bars  of  her  stall  and  enter  the  gen- 
eral fray,  I  dug  all  the  harder  in  the  straw.  All  at  once, 
amid  the  obscured  exciting  scene  and  above  the  tumult, 
I  detected  an  agonizing  groan,  and  suspected  Don  was 
squeezing  the  life  out  of  the  sheep  or  the  calf  or  the 
nuisance;  but  when  it  was  all  over  and  I  heard  the  vic- 
tim gasping  in  its  death  throes,  it  was  plain  that  my  dog 
had  shaken  all  the  strength  out  of  our  unwelcomed  guest. 

It  was  impossible  for  me  to  go  asleep  in  that  great,  airy 
barn.  I  crawled  out  of  the  straw,  and  got  my  donkey 
out  of  doors  as  quickly  as  possible.  As  for  Don,  I  felt 
indifferent  about  his  joining  our  company,  if  he  proposed 
to  be  familiar.  On  over  the  deserted  highway  we  groped 
our  way;  the  dog  sneezing,  coughing  and  rolling  by  the 
roadside,  the  half-suffocated  jackass  breathing  hard 
and  braying  faintly  for  more  air,  and  I  soliloquizing 
vociferously  about  the  existence  of  useless  creatures. 

The  wind  blowing  head  on,  I  kept  some  distance  ahead 
of  Mac,  and  threw  mud  and  stones  at  the  dog,  which  now 
seemed  particularly  fond  of  his  master,  and  continued  my 
tirade  against  such  obnoxious  things  as  we  had  lately  run 
against. 

"Every  creature  has  some  redeeming  virtue,"  Mac 
A'Rony  remarked  after  a  while.  "Above  all  things,  don't 
belittle  the  skunk;  he's  the  best  financier  in  the  world. 
He  could  go  into  the  Stock  Exchange  and  bull  the  market 
with  one  scent,  and  all  the  members  together  couldn't  bear 
it."  Mac  was  ever  doling  out  to  me  unwelcome  philos- 
ophy under  trying  circumstances. 

We  reached  Ligonier,  a  fine  little  town  eleven  miles 
away,  the  next  day  in  time  for  one  o'clock  dinner.  Since 

128 


ALL  THE   DEVILS   ARE   HERE 

entering  Indiana  I  had  not  made  expenses ;  and  my  little 
reserve  fund  was  vanishing.  I  had  been  told  that  Ligon- 
ier  was  a  moneyed  town,  and  its  people  liberal ;  so  I  tried 
to  secure  a  hall  for  a  lecture,  but  failing,  I  spoke  my  piece 
in  the  street.  Fully  two  hundred  persons  assembled  to 
hear  me,  and  encored  enthusiastically.  I  concluded  with 
passing  my  hat  and  collecting  32  cents.  I  talked  again 
three  hours  later  on  the  same  spot,  and  was  rewarded  with 
a  contribution  of  three  cents.  I  think  that  collection  for 
a  lecture  is  a  record-breaker. 

Goshen  was  reached  next  day  by  5  P.  M.  The  Scrip- 
ture speaks  of  Goshen  as  the  land  "flowing  with  milk  and 
honey,"  but  as  I  have  been  told,  I  am  somewhat  rusty  on 
Biblical  history.  At  any  rate,  I  looked  forward  to  replen- 
ish my  depleted  exchequer  here,  if  I  had  to  resort  to  ex- 
treme measures.  Before  retiring,  I  made  up  my  mind  I 
was  going  to  be  awfully  disappointed  with  Goshen.  The 
people  of  the  section  of  country  I  had  threaded  from  the 
Ohio  boundary  were  incredulous,  superstitious,  penurious 
and  suspicious,  and  those  characteristics  seemed  to  reach 
their  superlative  in  that  particular  town. 

Monday  dawned  still  and  sunny — an  ideal  day  for 
hanging  out  clothes,  but  not  shingles.  I  hung  out  mine, 
nevertheless;  it  was  essential  to  Mac's  welfare  and  to 
mine,  to  say  nothing  of  the  dog's. 

A  drummer  showed  deep  interest  in  my  pilgrimage,  and 
I  asked  him  how  he  made  out  with  his  business.  I  had 
failed  signally.  He  said  he  was  glad  I  spoke  to  him  on 
the  subject,  and  drew  me  aside. 

"See  all  the  thrifty-looking  wagon-teams  hitched  on 
the  two  sides  of  the  Court  House  Square  ?"  said  he ;  "See 
those  squads  of  grangers  standing  around  waiting  for 
something  to  turn  up?  Well,  every  stranger  is  looked 
upon  with  suspicion.  If  he  attempts  to  drum  up  a  new 

129 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

business  among  these  fossils,  he  is  immediately  branded 
a  'fake.'  After  I  had  made  two  unsuccessful  trips  to  this 
section,  I  vowed  I  would  make  the  third  one  a  success. 
A  fake  article  sold  by  a  first-class  imitation  drummer 
would  just  about  catch  these  people.  And  ever  since  that 
day  I  have  been  unloading  on  them,  and  reaping  a  big 
harvest.  Do  you  see  the  moral? 

I  said  I  did,  and  thanked  him.  After  lunch,  during 
which  I  was  accredited  extremely  thoughtful,  I  drew  my 
friend  aside  and  whispered,  "I  have  it.  I'll  buy  some  axle- 
grease,  and  mix  it  with  sweet  oil,  and  sell  it  for  eye 
salve !"  The  drummer  eyed  me  as  he  might  a  wonderful 
character,  felt  of  my  head,  and  said  I'd  win  out.  At  once 
I  went  to  a  drug-store  for  some  pill  boxes,  blank  labels 
and  perfume,  and  to  a  hardware  store  for  axle-grease 
and  sweet  oil ;  then  retired  to  my  hotel  room,  and  mixed 
my  "Eye  Elixir." 

As  soon  as  my  magic  healing  wares  were  ready  to  put 
on  the  market,  I  hunted  up  a  sore-eyed  tramp  I  had  seen 
on  the  street  that  day,  and  promising  him  a  percentage  of 
my  receipts,  got  him  to  assist  me  to  get  even  with  the  folks 
he,  too,  had  a  grudge  against.  When  I  was  fairly  started 
on  my  eloquent  talk  about  the  virtues  of  "Eye  Exixir," 
the  tramp  walked  up  with  the  quarter  I  had  given  him, 
and  asked  for  "another  box,"  saying  to  the  crowd,  he'd 
been  looking  for  me  all  over  the  country  and  was  glad  to 
find  me,  for  his  eyes  being  almost  well  from  using  the 
first  box  began  to  get  worse  when  he  had  no  more  salve, 
which  was  the  only  thing  that  ever  helped  his  sore  eyes. 
He  said,  if  he  could  afford  it,  he  would  lay  in  a  lot  of  it 
for  future  use,  not  knowing  where  he  could  get  any  more. 
Then  a  boy  stepped  up  and  bought  a  box,  and  an  old 
woman  bought  two  boxes,  and  the  sales  proceeded  so 
fast  when  once  started  that  I  soon  sold  out,  and  took  in  $7, 

130 


ALL  THE   DEVILS   AI^E   HERE 

selling  twenty-seven  boxes  of  "Eye  Elixir"  besides  the 
box  I  had  sold  to  the  tramp.  I  paid  him  one  dollar  for 
his  services,  with  which  he  was  delighted.  This  left  me  a 
net  profit,  after  deducting  the  cost  of  making  the  salve,  of 
$4.90,  paying  my  expenses  in  town  and  leaving  me  a 
small  balance.  Then  I  cleared  out  of  Goshen  as  quickly 
as  possible.  Oh,  Shakespeare,  how  truthfully  you  said, 
"What  fools  these  mortals  be !" 

I  resolved  that  when  I  should  return  East  I  would  go 
by  ship  around  the  Horn,  or  by  train  across  the  .Isthmus, 
or  else  choose  a  trans-continental  route  which  would  give 
that  section,  honied  and  milked  by  Pye  Pod,  a  wide 
berth. 


131 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Yankee  Doodle  came  to  town, 

Riding  on  a  pony, 
Stuck  a  feather  in  his  cap, 

And  called  him  "Mac  A'Rony." 

— Old  Ballad. 

A  county  poor-house  on  the  road  to  Elkhart  attracted 
my  notice  when  I  was  about  to  pass  it  by.  My  outfit  was 
recognized  by  a  man  raking  the  front  lawn,  and  he 
urged  me  to  visit  the  institution;  so,  thinking  I  might 
devote  a  quarter-hour  to  the  cause  of  self-education,  I 
tied  Mac  in  the  yard,  and  was  shown  through  the  dirtiest 
and  most  uninteresting  building  I  ever  inspected. 

Old,  lazy-looking  men,  with  empty  heads  in  full  hands, 
lounged  about  on  benches,  and  several  others  in  the  hos- 
pital ward  seemed  to  be  trying  harder  to  die  than  to  live. 
One  wrinkled  but  round-faced  wench,  with  a  soiled  band- 
age round  her  ears  and  forehead,  was  smoking  a  well-sea- 
soned pipe  in  the  kitchen  while  stirring  mush.  I  was  glad 
to  see  the  house  prison  empty.  Five  minutes  indoors  suf- 
ficed me ;  and,  bidding  my  escort  a  hasty  adieu,  I  piloted 
Mac  on  to  Elkhart. 

Arriving  in  the  city,  I  at  once  procured  a  license  to  sell 
pictures  on  the  curb,  a  precaution  I  had  been  timely  ad- 
vised to  take,  and  one  that  was  rarely  necessary  on  that 
trip.  Then,  before  going  to  eat  and  to  rest  my  tired 
bones,  I  led  the  donkey  to  a  prominent  corner  in  the  busi- 
ness center  and  began  to  sell.  I  had  disposed  of  two 
photos  only,  when  a  policeman  with  unusual  pomposity 
ordered  me  away,  but  I  continued  to  make  sales  and,  as 

132 


DARKEST  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN 

$i;n 

he  was  about  to  take  me  in  custody,  shook  my  license  in 
his  face,  causing  much  merriment  to  the  crowd. 

Soon  the  cheering  attracted  the  Mayor  to  the  scene, 
and  he,  to  my  surprise,  not  only  bought  a  chromo,  but 
paid  me  for  the  privilege  of  riding  Mac  A'Rony.  The 
jack  reluctantly  consenting,  his  Honor  got  into  the  sad- 
dle and  rode  down  the  half-choked  thoroughfare  a  block 
and  back  amid  thunderous  applause. 

The  profits  from  my  sales  did  not  meet  my  expenses,  in- 
cluding the  cost  of  license,  so  I  hurried  on  to  Mishawaka, 
where,  after  supper  I  delivered  a  street  lecture,  passed  my 
hat  and  collected  24  cents.  I  would  yet  be  stranded  in 
Indiana,  at  that  rate.  Mac  advised  me  to  leave  town  at 
once,  and  we  made  for  South  Bend  at  dark,  reaching  that 
city  by  ten  o'clock.  And  there  with  only  $6.50  in  pocket, 
I  put  up  at  a  small  hotel  and  tossed  in  bed  half  the  night, 
wondering  how  I  should  save  myself. 

"The  darkest  hour  is  just  before  dawn,"  and  it  was 
about  that  time  when  I  recollected  having  received,  a  few 
days  before  my  pilgrimage  began,  a  letter  from  a  Mr. 
Adams,  of  Chicago,  extending  me  an  invitation  to  be 
his  guest,  should  I  pass  through  that  city.  It  was  one  of 
many  letters  received  at  the  time,  which  I  had  not  an- 
swered. I  now  regretted  my  negligence,  but  neverthe- 
less, next  morning,  with  due  apologies  I  wired  him  to 
expect  me  on  a  certain  train,  and  planned  for  a  week's 
absence. 

The  lenient  hotel  proprietor  agreed  to  take  care  of  my 
animals  as  security  for  my  hotel  and  stable  bill;  then  I 
purchased  a  return  ticket  for  emergency,  and  boarded  the 
train  for  the  Windy  City,  trusting  to  a  dollar  and  a  half, 
to  my  wits,  and  to  "luck"  to  carry  me  through. 

As  I  stepped  off  the  train  in  Chicago,  a  stranger 
grasped  my  hand  and  gave  me  a  most  cordial  greeting. 

133 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

"Laying  for  me,  eh? — first  man  I  meet  a  confidence 
man,"  I  muttered  inwardly.  But  he  was  extremely  cour- 
teous, and  offered  to  carry  my  saddle-bags. 

"No,  sir/'  I  said,  politely.  "I've  carried  them  twelve 
hundred  miles,  and  can  carry  them  three  thousand  more." 

"Pod  is  your  name,  all  right;"  the  stranger  continued, 
half  in  inquiry,  half  in  surprise,  I  thought,  as  we  walked 
out  of  the  railroad  station. 

"You  bet  it  is,"  I  said,  emphatically.  "Just  because 
you've  plenty  of  wind  out  here  you  needn't  think  it  can 
blow  away  my  name." 

"Well,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "Our  wind  is  said  to  be 
the  best  brewed  in  all  this  country.  It  may  not  be  strong 
enough  to  blow  away  pods,  but  I'll  wager  it  can  blow  the 
pease  out  of  'em  so  far  you  never  can  find  them."  The 
man's  f acetiousness  interested  me ;  it  bespoke  his  nerve. 

"Tell  me,  Mister,"  I  said,  after  walking  several  blocks, 
"where  are  you  taking  me,  anyhow?" 

"Oh,  just  three  blocks  more,  then  we  take  a  cable,"  said 
my  escort,  as  he  made  another  futile  grab  for  my  country- 
fied  luggage.  When  on  the  car,  this  confidence  man  had 
the  confidence  to  introduce  me  to  a  pal,  as  the  New  York 
gentleman  and  scholar,  Professor  Pye  Pod,  who  was  sur- 
veying a  trans-continental  turnpike  from  the  observation 
platform  of  a  jackass. 

"I  want  to  know!"  exclaimed  bui\co  man  number  two; 
and  suddenly,  a  new  light  affecting  to  dawn  on  his  brain, 
he  added,  as  if  to  disarm  my  suspicions,  "I  see.  I  see.  I 
have  it  now.  You  are  the  journalist  I've  read  about, — 
said  to  be  well  fixed — first  visit  to  Chicago?" 

"Not  much,"  I  returned.  "Been  here  dozens  of  times. 
Can't  say  I'm  well  fixed,  though,  with  only  a  dollar  and  a 
half  to  my  name." 

At  this  stage  of  the  dialogue,  I  saw  a  police  station, 

134 


DARKEST  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN 

"Come  with  me,"  I  said,  "I  want  to  procure  a  license. 
Then  we'll  have  a  'smile.'  " 

And,  to  my  utter  surprise  and  gratification,  both  men 
stepped  off  the  car  and  followed  me  like  faithful  dogs  into 
the  police  station. 

"Where's  the  Chief  of  Police?"  I  inquired  of  a  man  in 
uniform,  who  stepped  toward  me. 

"Right  here  before  you,"  was  the  answer. 

"Well,  arrest  these  bunco-steerers,"  I  said,  dropping 
my  odd-looking  luggage  and  laying  a  hand  on  each  man's 
shoulder.  I  never  saw  greater  astonishment  and  embar- 
rassment than  was  expressed  by  these  two  confidence  men 
at  being  so  easily  trapped  by  their  "Uncle  Rube." 

"This  man  met  me  at  the  train  when  my  depot  came 
in,"  I  continued,  excitedly,  in  lapsus  lingua.  He  knew 
my  name,  business,  and  previous  condition  of  fortune,  and 
put  me  on  a  car  where  he  introduced  this  pal  of  his,  and 
if  I  hadn't  been  forwarned  against  such  fellows  by  my 
Uncle  Hiram,  and  caught  on  to  the  game,  I  would  have 
been  robbed  by  this  time  and  chucked  into  the  sewer." 

This  was  enough  for  the  Chief.  He  seized  each  man 
by  the  collar.  Instantly  the  first  man  found  his  tongue 
and  tried  to  explain  matters,  and  finally  did  so,  to  the  sat- 
isfaction of  all  concerned.  But  what  a  surprise  party  for 
PyePod! 

"Well !  well ! !  well ! ! !"  I  exclaimed,  my  heart  thump- 
ing like  a  pile-driver,  as  I  realized  my  embarrassing  pre- 
dicament. "Who  would  have  thought  it?  Mr.  Adams, 
of  course!  My  dear  sir,  how  -stupid  of  me!  I  have 
wronged  you  and  your  friend  unmercifully.  When  I 
telegraphed  you  (the  Chief  here  loosened  his  hold  on  the 
men)  I  never  thought  you  would  attempt  to  meet  me  at 
the  train,  let  alone  have  time  to.  Your  address  of  131609 
Wellington  avenue,  I  supposed  must  be  near  to  the  State 

J35 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

line;  Chicago  has  grown  so.  Couldn't  conceive  how  you 
could  reach  the  depot  before  to-morrow." 

Of  course,  it  was  "up  to  me"  to  treat.  So  I  left  my 
saddle-bags,  and  going  to  a  cigar  store,  purchased  a 
dime's  worth  of  cheroots,  and  did  myself  nobly  by  the 
chief  and  the  confidence  men,  whose  faces  were  bloated 
and  red  on  my  return.  Then  my  forgiving  host  took  me 
to  his  distant  home,  where,  after  dinner,  we  enjoyed  a 
smoke — of  his  own  cigars — and  a  hearty  laugh  over  my 
exceptional  initiation  to  Chicago  life. 

While  smoking  and  chatting,  my  host  happened  to 
mention  a  big  mass  meeting  to  be  held  that  evening  at 
Lincoln  Turner  Hall.  The  doors  were  to  be  opened  at 
eight  o'clock.  It  was  now  seven-thirty.  At  once  I  ex- 
plained my  financial  stress,  and  told  him  that  the  object 
of  my  advance  trip  by  train  was  to  try  to  make  enough 
money  to  continue  my  donkey  journey.  Adams  suggested 
that,  that  being  the  case,  we  should  attend  the  meeting, 
by  all  means ;  so  we  hurried  off. 

Arriving  at  the  hall,  my  host  introduced  me  to  an  officer 
of  the  league,  who  escorted  us  both  to  seats  on  the  plat- 
form with  a  number  of  vice-presidents  and  their  wives 
and  mothers-in-law.  After  several  orators  had  spoken, 
among  them  being  Carter  Harrison,  soon  to  be  elected 
Mayor  of  Chicago,  the  chairman  reminded  the  audience 
of  Pythagoras  Pod  and  his  celebrated  donkey,  Mac 
A'Rony,  of  whom  they  had  read,  saying  that  the  meeting 
was  honored  with  the  Professor's  presence;  then  he  in- 
troduced me,  after  having  said  I  needed  no  introduction. 

It  was  five  minutes  before  I  could  hear  myself  speak, 
and,  not  being  there  for  that  purpose,  I  didn't  say  much. 
But  my  speech  seemed  to  tickle  the  audience,  and  when  I 
had  concluded,  the  chairman  suggested  that  my  histrionic 
plug  hat  be  passed  around  the  hall,  on  the  inside,  so  it 

136 


DARKEST  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN 

was ;  and,  do  you  believe,  it  was  returned  to  me  with  more 
wealth  than  I  had  possessed  before,  at  any  one  time  on  my 
pilgrimage. 

The  two  days  following  were  busy  ones.  I  contracted 
for  the  manufacture  of  a  quantity  of  buttons,  containing 
the  picture  of  Pye  Pod  on  his  donkey,  and  arranged  for 
the  meeting  with  the  manager  of  a  large  patent  medicine 
concern  on  my  return  to  the  city  with  Mac  A'Rony. 
Then,  after  a  day's  rest,  I  returned  Sunday  evening  to 
South  Bend,  Ind.,  to  find  my  donkey  and  dog  well  and 
delighted  to  see  me,  but  myself  suffering,  for  the  first, 
with  malaria. 

I  had  a  severe  chill  on  reaching  the  hotel,  and  all  night 
long  I  rolled  and  tossed  with  a  fever.  This  was  doubtless 
the  result  of  my  evening  travels  through  the  swamps  and 
lowlands  of  the  Hoosier  State.  At  midnight,  I  sent  a 
bell-boy  for  quinine,  and  by  feeding  on  the  medicine  lib- 
erally, for  several  hours,  I  broke  up  the  fever  by  morning ; 
but  still  my  bones  ached.  I  had  no  appetite  and  was  in  no 
form  to  travel.  At  noon  I  forced  down  a  little  soup,  paid 
my  bills,  and  set  out  for  New  Carlisle,  walking  the  whole 
distance,  fourteen  miles,  by  sunset.  Mac  was  so  slow 
that  his  shadow  beat  him  to  town.  My  muscles  and 
joints  still  ached,  and  I  passed  another  sleepless  night. 
Next  day  I  pushed  on  to  La  Porte,  fourteen  miles  further, 
and  went  to  bed  feeling  a  wreck.  But  as  the  chills  and 
fever  failed  to  return,  I  enjoyed  sleep. 

My  Chicago  trip  was  a  boon  to  me.  I  gave  no  thought 
to  money-making  for  the  present.  Wednesday  morning, 
feeling  in  better  spirits,  I  started  for  Valparaiso,  and  cov- 
ered the  twenty-two  miles  on  foot  by  dark,  and  relished  a 
hearty  supper.  Thus  far  the  week  had  been  cold  and 
damp  and  cloudy.  The  roads,  where  they  were  not 

137 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

muddy,  were  very  sandy,  and  Mac  and  I  made  slow  head- 
way. 

The  following  night  was  spent  in  Hobart,  where  I  was 
entertained  at  an  amusing,  though  distressing  cock-fight, 
and  all  day  Friday  I  tramped  or  waded  in  sand  six  inches 
deep  to  the  next  town,  Hammond,  where  I  passed  a  rest- 
less night,  in  spite  of  my  now  restored  health.  In  the 
morning  I  learned  that  the  state  line  runs  not  only 
through  the  town,  but  also,  the  very  house  and  bedroom 
I  occupied.  My  bed  was  directly  on  the  line,  and  some- 
how, any  position  I  got  in  brought  that  line  across  some 
part  of  my  body. 

Dull  monotony  and  bad  weather  distinguished  the  next 
day's  journey;  a  rainstorm  met  us  half  way  to  Chicago, 
and  wet  us  all  the  way.  But  on  Palm  Sunday,  we  pro- 
gressed under  more  genial  skies.  I  observed  many  pa- 
cific, law-abiding  people  with  prayer-books,  bottles  and 
shot-guns,  either  on  their  way  to  church,  to  a  fishing- 
stream,  or  to  the  woods ;  and  we  came  upon  a  tandem  bi- 
cycle party,  the  machine  broken  down,  the  young  man  and 
woman  apparently  broken  up.  She  sat  on  a  stone  against 
a  telegraph  pole  with  chin  in  her  hands,  watching  the  gal- 
lant fellow,  who  was  at  her  feet,  on  his  knee  caps  with  a 
monkey  wrench  in  his  hands,  trying  to  repair  damages. 

From  South  Chicago  we  passed  into  Stony  Island  Bou- 
levard and  the  Midway  Plaisance  of  the  World's  Fair  of 
'93.  The  remaining  Art  building  arched  its  brows  at  my 
curious  outfit,  and  an  endless  chain  of  bicycles  and  car- 
riages conveyed  past  us  an  inquisitive  and  gaping  multi- 
tude, many  of  whom  altered  their  plans  to  follow  us  into 
the  city  proper.  It  was  six  o'clock  when  we  reached 
Thirty-fourth  street  and  I  found  a  suitable  stable  for  my 
animals.  Then  affectionately  patting  Don's  head  and 
rubbing  Mac's  nose,  I  left  them  and  sauntered  up  the  ave- 

138 


DARKEST  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN 

nue,  heaving  a  sigh  of  infinite  relief  over  my  hard-earned 
triumph. 

As  I  trended  the  streets  of  that  wide-awake  metropolis 
toward  its  business  center,  I  was  stopped  many  times  by 
truant  messenger  boys  and  idle  street  gamins,  who  seemed 
surprisingly  solicitous  about  the  physical  condition  of  my 
hat. 

"Mister,  this  way  to  a  hat  store."  "If  you  want  to  buy  a 
new  hat,  111  take  you  to  a  hatter."  "This  way,  Mister,  I 
know  a  place  to  get  a  hat  cheap."  "Say,  Mister,  I  kin  get 
yer  a  hat  fer  nothin'." 

Why  should  I  wish  a  new  hat?  I  asked  myself  indig- 
nantly. True,  mine  had  seen  better  days,  but  it  was  worth 
more  to  me  now  than  a  hundred  new  hats.  "Yes,  yes, 
you  dear  old  weather-beaten  tile,"  I  apostrophized  as  I 
strode  on  with  a  deaf  ear  to  my  inquisitors,  "you  are  of 
royal  stuff,  for  you  have  triumphed  over  many  wars  and 
dissensions  and  still  wear  a  crown!  The  plebeian  hats 
who  calumniate  you,  although  fresh  from  a  band-box,  are 
common  compared  with  you;  they  are  jealous  of  your  ex- 
ploits and  envy  you  your  faithful  friend. 

Vividly  do  I  recall  our  desperate  encounters  with  the 
mad  bull,  the  hailstorms  and  other  warring  elements ;  and 
that  winter's  night  when  you  forgot  your  personal  safety 
and  made  a  noble  self-sacrifice  by  receiving  the  assailant's 
bullet  intended  for  me ;  and,  again,  the  day  the  awkward 
jackass  tried  to  yank  me  off  the  plank  foot-bridge  under- 
neath him  in  his  fall,  when  you  threw  your  own  lean 
frame  down  on  to  the  bank  in  place  of  me  and  received  the 
weight  which  would  have  mashed  me  to  death,  but  which 
only  squeezed  the  wind  out  of  you.  Why  do  all  the  idle 
clerks  gaze  at  you  so  longingly  from  the  shop-windows? 
Because  they  covet  you  as  a  drawing  card  to  disdaining 
shoppers.  I  am  proud  of  you.  Rest  in  peace." 

139 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

I  spent  the  night  with  friend  Adams,  on  his  invitation. 
Monday  morning  I  kept  my  appointment  with  the  patent 
medicine  man.  He  received  me  cordially,  evidently  aware 
of  the  boon  I  might  be  to  his  business  should  I  enter  his 
employ,  and  in  order  that  he  might  better  discuss  my 
proposition  and  its  possibilities,  he  invited  me  some  miles 
into  the  country  for  a  couple  of  days'  outing  at  a  mineral 
spring  resort. 

A  stylish  coach  and  four  met  us  at  the  train,  and 
wheeled  us  over  a  pretty  rolling  country,  in  the  glow  of 
the  setting  sun,  to  the  cozy  hotel-sanitarium,  which  was 
brilliantly  illuminated  and  whose  doors  were  open  to  wel- 
come us. 

And  in  less  than  twenty  minutes,  Pod  made  of  his 
Apollo  form  a  companion  piece  to  "Diana  Bathing." 

The  water  then  sold  at  fifty  cents  a  gallon  and  there 
were  two  hundred  gallons  in  my  tub.  Think  of  it !  I  had 
read  about  beautiful  actresses  and  heiresses  taking  milk 
baths  and  champagne  baths  and  Rochelle  salts  baths,  but 
that  $100  bath  of  mine  in  pure  lithia  water  would  have  put 
all  those  pretty  bathing  women  to  the  blush.  But  when, 
in  my  enthusiasm,  I  so  told  my  generous  host,  he  spoiled 
all  my  beautiful  delusions  at  once  by  saying  quite  me- 
chanically, "Oh,  two  hundred  gallons  for  a  bath  is  noth- 
ing unusual ;  it's  only  the  overflow." 

Next  morning  he  asked  me  if  I  would  like  a  magno- 
mud  bath.  "Sir?"  I  interrogated,  gravely.  "If  you  had 
dragged  and  pushed  and  carried  a  stubborn,  cantankerous 
donkey  through  four  hundred  miles  of  red  and  yellow 
Ohio  mud,  and  two  hundred  miles  of  blue  and  black  In- 
diana mud,  not  to  mention  some  six  hundred  miles  of 
New  York  and  Pennsylvania  mud  of  various  hues  and 
conditions,  the  overflows  of  December,  January  and  Feb- 
ruary ;  if  you  had  bathed  in  mud,  waded  in  mud,  soaked 

140 


DARKEST  HOUR  BEFORE  DAWN 

in  mud  and  cursed  in  mud  for  nearly  five  months,  and  I 
were  to  put  such  a  delicate  question  to  you,  your  sensi- 
bilities would  be  shocked,  your  nerves  paralyzed,  your 
reason  ossified." 

My  host  apologized  and  withdrew  the  invitation;  then 
with  great  wisdom  and  forethought,  he  introduced  me  to 
the  physician,  Dr.  Tanner,  the  highest  authority  on  fast- 
ing, and  renowned  for  his  having  fasted  forty  days.  I 
considered  this  the  luckiest  meeting  of  my  whole  journey. 
He  took  quite  a  fancy  to  me  and  gave  me  valuable  instruc- 
tions and  prescriptions  for  fasting  any  period  from  one  to 
forty  days ;  but  I  was  disappointed  not  to  be  enlightened 
on  how  to  go  several  days  without  water. 

That  morning  my  host  made  me  a  liberal  proposition  to 
advertise  his  medicines,  he  guaranteeing  to  pay  me  a 
regular  weekly  stipend  during  the  remainder  of  my  pil- 
grimage to  the  Golden  Gate,  and,  free  of  all  charges,  to 
provide  me  with  all  the  photographs  of  my  asinine  outfit 
that  I  could  sell  en  route.  I  signed  the  contract.  Then 
we  returned  to  Chicago. 


141 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  whole  duty  of  man  is  to  be  a  mother. — Jerome  K.  Jerome. 

One  week  of  gamboling  in  sporty,  wide-awake  Chicago, 
and  of  high-life  on  the  top  floor  of  the  Auditorium,  put 
me  in  fine  fettle  to  resume  travel.  My  second  morning  at 
the  popular  hotel  I  indited  this  note  to  an  Eastern  friend ; 
"Breakfasted  to-day  on  the  roof,  got  a  shine  in  the  cellar, 
and  met  everybody  half  way." 

For  nearly  five  months,  through  severe  winter  and  early 
spring  weather,  I  had  hustled  as  I  never  had  before  to 
make  ends  meet;  now  I  had  swum  the  Hellespont  to  a 
prosperous  shore,  the  remainder  of  my  long,  slow  journey 
looked  more  enticing.  Several  valuable  and  useful  ar- 
ticles were  presented  to  me  by  wealthy  admirers  in  the 
Windy  City,  who  also  dined  me,  took  me  to  the  theatre  and 
entertained  me  in  other  ways. 

One  evening  I  was  pleasantly  surprised  to  be  escorted 
to  a  champagne  dinner  given  by  my  friend  Williams,  of 
the  Union  News  Company  of  New  York,  to  several 
prominent  business  men  of  the  West.  When  the  sump- 
tuous repast  was  well  under  way  he  unpinned  from  the 
lapel  of  my  coat  a  button  containing  a  photo  of  Pod 
seated  on  Mac,  and  paid  me  a  five  dollar  bill  for  it ;  and, 
learning  I  had  a  stock  of  buttons  in  pocket,  the  other 
guests  followed  suit.  Such  wholesale  generosity  was  as 
overwhelming  as  my  gratitude. 

The  man  with  whom  I  contracted  to  advertise  gave  me 

142 


CHAMPAGNE  AVENUE,  CHICAGO 

a  donkey,  which  I  named  Cheese,  to  go  with  Mac  A'Rony. 
And  so  delighted  was  Mac  with  this  new  comrade  to 
share  his  burdens  that,  on  my  approval,  he  agreed  hence- 
forth to  contribute  to  the  papers  every  other  letter  on  our 
travels  to  the  coast,  and  so  enable  me  to  devote  more  time 
to  bread-winning. 

Easter  morning  I  found  a  blue  hen's  egg  at  my  plate. 
I  was  pleased  with  the  remembrance  and  had  the  clerk 
place  it  in  my  letter-box.  When  I  called  at  noon  for  my 
mail,  I  was  told  the  egg  had  visited  most  all  of  the  letter 
boxes,  each  guest  in  turn  having  disclaimed  it;  so,  when 
at  six  o'clock  I  called  for  the  egg  to  take  it  to  my  room  for 
safe  keeping,  and  was  handed  instead  a  parcel  that 
smelled  of  chicken,  I  was  not  surprised;  however,  upon 
opening  it,  I  could  not  conceal  my  astonishment. 

"Mr.  Pod,"  said  the  clerk,  gravely,  "the  egg  was 
handled  so  much  that  it  naturally  hatched.  Certainly  you 
are  not  surprised  ?" 

"Not  surprised  that  it  hatched,"  I  returned,  to  be  rea- 
sonable, "but  this  is  fried  chicken,  and  the  egg  was 
boiled." 

My  Easter  dinner  with  friends  on  Champlain  avenue 
made  me  realize  somewhat  the  stupor  a  boa-constrictor 
experiences  after  having  swallowed  an  ox.  My  friend 

Bob  B urged  me  to  make  his  home  my  transitory 

abode,  arguing  that  perhaps  while  at  the  hotel  I  was 
cheated  of  needed  rest  by  yielding  too  much  to  entertain- 
ment by  well-meaning  acquaintances.  He  gave  me  a 
key  to  the  house,  showed  me  my  room,  and  told  me  to 
drop  in  any  time,  day  or  night,  and  make  myself  at  home. 

Having  promised  to  call  on  an  elderly  gentleman  who 
had  been  very  kind  to  me,  I  spent  that  evening  with  his 
family.  Before  leaving  I  had  made  great  friends  with  his 
little  granddaughter,  and  promised  to  call  again  and  bring 

i43 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

her  some  candy.  "I  want  circus  candy,  the  kind  with 
rings  around  it,"  she  explained,  drawing  imaginary  cir- 
cles round  her  finger. 

When  I  reached  my  hotel  the  clerk  said  several  gentle- 
men were  waiting  to  see  me.  I  was  sleepy ;  besides,  I  felt 
I  had  caught  cold  and  should  doctor  it  at  once.  Explain- 
ing to  the  clerk  that  I  was  indisposed  and  begged  to  be 
excused  to  my  callers,  I  slipped  out  of  the  door  and  hur- 
ried to  a  drug  store.  "A  good  drink  of  calisaya  will  fix 
you,"  said  the  drug  clerk,  who  explained  it  was  well 
charged  with  quinine,  but  failed  to  mention  it  was  also 
well  charged  with  alcohol.  I  drank  two  glasses  of  it, 
then  boarded  a  car  for  Champlain  avenue. 

Before  reaching  my  destination  I  fell  asleep.  But  the 
conductor  was  thoughtful  enough  to  awaken  me  and  as- 
sist me  to  alight.  I  was  so  dizzy  from  sleepiness,  1 
couldn't  walk  straight.  I  soon  got  my  bearings,  though, 
and  reached  Bob's  house  by  experiencing  sensations  of 
treading  a  moving  sidewalk,  promenading  a  steamer  deck 
in  a  high  sea,  and  circumnavigating  a  crystal  maze. 

I  found  the  door-knob  but  not  the  key-hole.  We  had 
been  having  damp  weather,  and  I  reasoned  that  perhaps 
the  key-hole  had  shrunk  shut.  I  searched  my  pockets  for 
matches,  and  found  enough  wooden  toothpicks  to  kindle 
my  wrath.  While  I  was  fuming,  a  policeman  came  to  my 
relief. 

"Who  be  you,  young  feller?"  he  interrogated. 

"Pyth  (hie)  thagoras  Pod,"  I  answered,  civilly;  and 
offering  him  the  key,  added,  "Won't  you  open  the  (hie) 
door  for  me  ?" 

"You  don't  live  here,  then,"  said  the  cop. 

"I  know  (hie)  it,"  I  admitted.    "Just  visiting  friends." 

"Are  you  sure  you  know  where  you  are  at  ?"  he  queried, 
sternly. 

144 


"He  accused  me  of  attempting  suicide. 


'll'e  made  slozv  head-way  to  the  Mississippi. 


CHAMPAGNE  AVENUE,  CHICAGO 

"No  (hie),  I'm  not  sure,"  I  said  feebly,  "but  I  think  I'm 
on  Champlain  avenue." 

"More  like  champagne,"  he  returned,  sourly.  "What's 
the  number  of  the  house  ?" 

"I  forget  it,"  I  answered,  "I  know  the  house  (hie), 
though,  when  I  see  it." 

"I  think  you  came  here  for  business,"  said  the  officer. 
"You  better  come  with  me."  And  he  locked  his  arm  in 
mine. 

"Let  me  ring  (hie)  up  the  folks,"  I  pleaded.  "They'll 
identify  me."  The  cop  stopped,  hesitated,  and,  doubtlessly 
deeming  prudence  the  better  part  of  valor,  "let."  When 
I  took  my  thumb  off  the  electric  button  the  household 
must  have  thought  Chicago  burning  again.  I  heard  Bob 
tumble  half  way  down  stairs;  and,  when  he  opened  the 
door  and  identified  me  and  saw  me  stagger  in,  he  took 
another  tumble.  The  third  was  taken  by  the  disappointed 
cop,  who  hurried  off  to  his  proper  beat. 

Conscious  of  my  inebriated  condition,  I  was  much  em- 
barrassed that  my  friend  should  find  me  in  such  a  state 
at  that  late  hour.  He  asked  me  no  questions,  and  I  told 
him  no  lies.  When  he  had  assisted  me  to  bed,  he  turned 
out  the  gas,  which  likely  I  should  have  blown  out,  and  left 
me  to  prayerful  meditation.  My  late  propensity  to  sleep 
had  vanished.  My  brain  was  a  whirling  wilderness.  The 
more  I  thought  about  that  temperance  drink  of  calisaya, 
the  less  respect  I  had  for  the  principles  of  prohibition.  I 
scored  temperance  societies,  darned  Salvation  Armies, 
and  cursed  the  birth  of  Matthews,  who  invented  the  soda 
fountain.  Before  long  I  was  in  a  sweat.  The  red  bev- 
erage was  evidently  breaking  up  my  cold,  but  that  wasn't 
all.  It  broke  me  up;  it  had  broken  the  slumbers  of  my 
host;  I  was  sure  it  had  broken  up  my  good  reputation 
for  sobriety. 

145 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

I  was  too  nervous  to  sleep.  Thinks  I,  "A  hot  bath  will 
just  fix  me.    I'll  get  up  and  take  one." 

I  rose  and  hunted  for  matches,  but  couldn't  find  any. 
Piece  by  piece,  I  scraped  several  ornaments  off  the  mantel 
to  the  floor,  one  bronze  Mozart  statuette  doing  some  ef- 
fective work  on  my  big  toe  that  I  had  intended  a  chirop- 
odist to  do.  Next  I  fell  over  a  center-table,  and  upset  a 
glass  vase  on  the  floor,  which  broke  its  neck;  then  I 
tumbled  over  a  rocker  and  wondered  that  I  didn't  break 
mine.  Still  bent  upon  reaching  the  bath  room,  I  bent  my 
nose  against  an  opened  closet  door.  I  was  mad.  At  last, 
finding  the  exit  of  my  chamber,  I  groped  my  way  into  the 
hall,  then  hesitated.  I  thought  I  remembered  the  location 
of  the  bath  room ;  I  was  under  the  impression  my  bedroom 
was  on  the  third  floor.  In  reaching  for  the  balusters,  I 
almost  lost  my  balance.  My  head  still  whirling  like  a 
dancing  Dervish.  Slowly  and  dizzily  I  felt  my  way  down 
stairs  until  I  came  to  a  door — the  bath  room  door,  I  sup- 
posed. I  opened  it  gently,  groped  my  way  in,  and  put  my 
bare  foot  on  a  napkin-ring,  which  proceeded  to  roll  away, 
landing  me  flat  on  the  floor.  Then  the  folding  door 
swung  to  with  a  bang.  I  feared  my  friends  would  think 
burglars  were  in  the  house. 

But  I  found  the  tub  all  right.  I  turned  the  faucets,  and 
was  pleased  to  have  both  run  cold  water,  for  I  burned  as 
with  a  fever.  But,  when  I  started  to  climb  into  the  tub,  I 
found  I  had  either  grown  shorter  in  stature,  or  the  tub 
had  been  raised.  Perhaps  it  was  managed  by  automatic 
machinery.  1  knew  nothing  about  machinery;  so  with 
great  effort  I  climbed  up  and  into  the  tub,  but  found 
greater  difficulty  to  get  all  of  me  in  it.  I  reasoned  that 
the  dimensions  of  the  contracted  bath-tub  must  be  all 
right,  but  the  expansions  of  my  head  were  wrong ;  I  was 
intoxicated  by  a  temperance  drink,  and  had  heard  that  it 

146 


CHAMPAGNE  AVENUE,  CHICAGO 

was  the  worst  kind  to  get  tipsy  on.  I  made  another  heroic 
effort  to  jam  my  body  into  the  tub,  but  some  of  me  would 
always  lap  over  the  edges.  I  reasoned  that,  if  I  were 
sober,  there  would  surely  be  room  for  three  to  swim  com- 
fortably about  that  bathtub.  Cold  water  ran  from  the 
faucets  for  some  time  and  I  was  considerably  cooled  off, 
when,  suddenly,  one  faucet  began  to  run  hot  water.  In- 
stead of  turning  off  the  water,  in  my  excitement  I  tried 
to  climb  out  of  the  tub,  but  was  wedged  so  tightly  in  it 
a  hasty  escape  was  impracticable,  and  before  I  fell  out  on 
the  floor  my  left  leg  was  scalded.  There  were  no  pillows 
where  I  dropped,  so  the  next  moment  the  door  swung 
open  and  the  gleam  of  a  lighted  match  shone  in  my  face. 
I  saw  my  host,  with  countenance  as  white  as  his  night- 
shirt, suddenly  assume  a  rosy  hue,  then  I  heard  him  gig- 
gle. I  was  glad  he  saw  some  humor  in  it,  for  I  failed  to. 
In  one  hand  he  held  an  old  army  musket,  and  I  told  him 
not  to  shoot.  Sitting  on  the  floor,  I  now  saw  plainly  that 
it  was  the  butler's  pantry  and  not  the  bath  room,  and  that 
I  had  taken  a  bath  in  the  sink. 

Bob,  on  gaining  my  room,  put  some  salve  on  my  scald, 
and  wound  my  limb  with  the  first  handkerchief  he  came 
across,  and  I  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

Next  morning  I  remembered  my  promise  to  buy  some 
candy  for  my  little  friend  and  visited  a  confectioner.  It 
was  a  big  store,  and  three  salesladies  tried  to  wait  upon 
me. 

"I  wish  the  spiral-striped  peppermint,  kind  of  circus 
candy,"  I  explained.  "It's  for  a  little  tot  I  am  fond  of." 

"I  understand,"  said  the  girl,  "but  we  haven't  it, — but 
wait  a  minute." 

Before  I  realized  what  she  meant,  she  had  dashed  out 
the  door,  presumably  to  the  store  two  doors  away.  I  was 
sorry  she  took  such  trouble  to  please  a  poor  patron.  Soon 

147 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

she  reappeared  with  a  crystal  jar  of  the  long  stick  candy  I 
desired,  and  dumping  a  pound  of  it  on  the  scales,  inquired, 
"How  much  do  you  wish  ?" 

"Oh,  one  stick  will  do,"  I  said.  "She's  a  delicate  child ; 
I  don't  want  to  make  her  sick." 

The  girl  almost  dropped  the  jar.  Then  recovering  her 
mental  equilibrium,  she  asked,  while  refilling  the  jar  from 
the  scales: 

"Will  you  take  it  with  you,  or  have  it  sent?" 

I  blinked.  "Take  it  with  me,  I  guess,"  was  my  reply. 
As  she  wrapped  the  stick  of  candy,  I  reached  in  my 
pocket  for  the  penny.  Then  I  felt  weak ;  I  hadn't  a  cent. 

"I-I-I-I  declare !"  I  exclaimed.  "I  left  all  my  money 
with  the  hotel  clerk ;  I'll  be  back  directly." 

And  out  I  rushed  into  the  street  where  there  was  more 
air.  By  the  time  I  got  to  the  hotel  and  back  I  was  willing 
to  buy  five  pounds  of  candy.  I  no  sooner  entered  the  store 
than  the  girl,  with  a  smothered  smile,  said,  "We  sent  the 
candy  to  the  hotel."  Now  I  was  embarrassed.  "What 
hotel?"  I  inquired. 

"Why,  the  Auditorium!"  she  giggled.  "You're  Mr. 
Pye  Pod,  aren't  you  ?  The  proprietor  said  so,  and  appre- 
ciating your  immense  purchase,  desired  to  spare  you  all 
the  inconvenience  possible." 

I  heard  laughter  in  the  office  as  I  closed  the  door  be- 
hind me.  I  dreaded  to  face  the  hotel  clerk.  As  I  strolled 
up  street,  I  thought  what  a  poor  mother  I  would  make 
even  to  one  little  child,  and  tried  to  fancy  the  awful  strain 
on  Washington  to  be  such  a  good  father  to  his  whole 
country. 

There  was  one  thing  that  worried  me  generally  when 
my  meals  were  over;  my  hat.  I  feared  I  should  lose  it. 
The  hat  boy,  clever  as  he  was,  by  mistake  might  give  it 
to  another.  Always  when  he  handed  it  to  me  I  stopped 

148 


,        CHAMPAGNE  AVENUE,  CHICAGO 

to  examine  it  carefully,  to  make  sure  it  wasn't  one  of  the 
stylish  tiles  which  had  presumed  to  associate  with  it  on 
the  rack.  It  was  customary  for  me  to  question  the  cus- 
todian of  hats  in  this  manner:  "Is  this  my  hat?"  "Are 
you  sure  it  is?" 

When,  Tuesday  evening,  my  odd-looking  stove-pipe 
was  handed  me,  I  examined  it  incredulously,  eyed  the  col- 
ored man,  then  stepping  in  front  of  a  natty-groomed  gen- 
tleman of  fifty,  who  had  just  received  his  latest  Dunlap 
from  the  custodian,  I  scrutinized  his  hat  inquisitively,  then 
my  own,  and  eyed  him  inquiringly,  as  much  as  to  say, 
Are  you  sure  our  hats  have  not  become  exchanged  ?"  The 
dignified  guest  did  not  take  kindly  to  my  manner.  He 
frowned,  even  looked  savage.  The  darkey  seemed  to 
think  it  funny,  and  laughed  in  his  hand,  with  back 
turned.  I  accompanied  the  old  gentleman  down  in  the 
elevator,  to  the  office,  where  we  picked  our  teeth. 

Then  I  addressed  the  clerk  in  injured  tones :  "I  have  a 
complaint  to  make." 

"Let's  have  it,"  said  the  genial  Harry. 

"That  black,  blue-brown  hat  custodian  at  the  dining 
room  is  forever  getting  my  tile  mixed  with  those  of  other 
guests.  I  hate  to  make  a  fuss,  but " 

"You  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Pod,"  said  the  clerk,  seri- 
ously, "A  first-class  hotel  should  not  tolerate  such  ineffi- 
ciency in  a  trusted  employee.  I'll  discharge  the  fellow 
at  once." 

I  stepped  away,  contented,  and  lighted  my  cigar. 

Then  the  stately  gentleman  addressed  the  clerk :  "Who 
in  -  -  is  that  fellow  ?  He's  off  his  trolley !  He  thought 
this  hat  of  mine  was  his,  and  that  rusty  antediluvian, 
dilapidated  specimen  he  wears  was  mine.  What's  his 
name?" 

"Why,  Professor  Pythagoras  Pod,  of  course.     Didn't 

149 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

you  recognize  him?  Everybody  knows  him.  He  knows 
his  hat,  too,  and  don't  you  forget  it.  Offer  him  fifty 
dollars  for  his  old  tile,  and  see  how  quickly  he'll  refuse  it." 
The  outraged  dignitary  shrank  into  his  clothes,  and,  with 
a  wry  glance  in  my  direction,  walked  away.  The  cus- 
todian of  hats  kept  his  job,  but  I  never  saw  the  stylish 
gentleman  again. 


150 


PART  TWO. 

By  PYE  POD  AND  MAC  A'RONY. 

"  Do  you  believe  the  whale  swallowed  Jonah  ? " 

"No." 

"  And  don't  you  believe  Balaam's  ass  spoke  to  him  ? 

"Yes;  I  believe  that." 

"  Why  ? " 

"  Because  so  many  asses  speak  to  me  every  day." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

Days  are  but  the  pulse-beats  of  immortal  time. — Sparks  from 
Iron  Shoes — Mac  A'Rony. 

It  was  the  twenty-tooth  of  April.  The  inclement 
weather,  which  had  rained  supreme  for  forty  hours,  sud- 
dently  abdicated  in  favor  of  the  presumptive  sun  and 
genial  air  apparent  which  ruled  gloriously  for  some  six 
hundred  and  nine  minutes.  Save  that  it  lacked  the  odor 
of  new-mown  hay,  it  was  a  day  fashioned  after  a  donkey's 
own  heart.  However,  a  yard  of  fresh  grass  painted  green 
would  have  satisfied  my  taste  better  than  did  the  golden 
sun  rays  and  the  transparent  air. 

At  ten  o'clock  Pye  Pod,  D.  D.  (donkey  driver),  saun- 
tered off  to  do  an  errand,  and  then  hastened  to  the  stables 
to  saddle  and  pack  his  two  noble  and  fractious  partners, 
Cheese  and  myself.  I  believe  my  erudite  collaborator  has 
already  introduced  to  you  my  long-eared  comrade. 

Such  a  load  as  we  were  to  carry !  Of  course,  I  got  the 
worst  of  the  bargain  in  which  I  had  no  voice.  Said  my 
master,  as  he  rubbed  my  nose,  "Mac,  old  boy,  since  you 
have  become  hardened  to  the  trip  by  reason  of  your  thir- 
teen hundred  mile  creep  (I  nabbed  at  him  vexedly),  I'll 
just  let  you  shoulder  the  two  boxes."  And,  with  nerve 
incarnate,  the  unbalanced  Professor  balanced  on  my  back 
what  seemed  to  me  two  one-ton  cases  of  pig-iron.  I  be- 
lieved my  time  had  come.  Even  the  unsophisticated 

153 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

Cheese,  whispered  to  me  nervously,  "Our  coffins,  Mac, 
sure  as  Balaam !"  and  resumed  the  mastication  of  timothy 
hay,  as  if  it  were  his  last  meal. 

The  pack-saddles  were  tightly  cinched  to  us.  Every 
time  Pod  pulled  on  the  ropes  under  my  belly  I  grunted  as 
if  in  pain,  although  it  only  tickled  me,  and  gnawed  a  half 
inch  off  the  oaken  manger  in  seeming  agony ;  so,  while  he 
imagined  he  was  squeezing  all  the  breath  out  of  me,  I 
had  still  enough  left  to  inflate  a  balloon. 

That's  how  I  fooled  Pod.  All  this  time  he  was  talking 
to  himself.  He  vowed  that  he  would  get  even  with  a  cer- 
tain officious  policeman,  who  had  daily  gloried  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  his  authority,  by  ordering  him  to  lead  his  "con- 
founded jackass"  away  from  the  front  portal  of  the  ho- 
tel, where  crowds  of  curious  people  always  gathered 
around  us  and  blocked  the  way.  His  soliloquy  grew 
louder  and  more  fiery  every  moment.  Even  Cheese  lifted 
his  snoot  out  of  the  haymow  and,  tilting  his  left  ear,  whis- 
pered, "Say,  Mac,  our  master  must  have  some  unholy  mo- 
tive in  mind.  Hold  on  to  your  wind.  Don't  let  him  lace 
those  lockers  on  you,  as  a  squaw  would  bind  a  pappoose 
to  her  back,  for  you  may  want  to  kick  'em  off.  Pod's 
daft." 

Well,  that  suspicious  jack's  most  grotesque  foreboding 
was  soon  realized.  Everything  went  well  until  we  were 
nearly  opposite  the  great  double  portal  of  the  hotel,  when, 
suddenly,  I  felt  the  saddle  slipping  round  my  girth. 
Another  second  and  I  was  flat  on  my  back,  jerked  high 
off  my  feet  on  top  of  the  boxes.  For  a  moment  I  could 
not  realize  the  undignified  posture  I  was  in.  Being  roped 
securely  to  the  boxes,  all  I  could  do  was  to  kick  at  the 
flying  sparrows,  and  bray  as  only  a  frightened  donkey  can. 

Crowds  quickly  assembled.  Excitement  ran  high. 
Cheese,  instead  of  raising  a  hoof  in  my  defense,  dropped 

154 


DONK  CAUSES  A  SENSATION 

his  ears  and  looked  complacently  on  my  animated  heap 
like  a  country  gawk.  The  hotel  guests  rushed  out  bare- 
headed, some  of  them  fresh  from  the  cafe  with  tripe  and 
ice  cream  in  hand,  and  wild-eyed  pedestrians  flocked  to 
the  scene  of  my  troubles.  Don  barked  excitedly  and  kept 
the  throng  back.  The  coolest  one  of  the  outfit  was  Pod. 
He  stood  quietly  by,  grinning  and  bowing  to  the  open-air 
audience,  as  if  he  were  the  bandmaster  and  I  the  band. 

I  now  recollected  Cheese's  advice,  and  chided  myself 
for  having  expanded  my  lungs  at  the  packing.  The 
thought  was  vexing  to  one  in  my  position.  Immediate 
relief  looked  hopeless.  Scared  half  to  death,  I  brayed 
myself  hoarse  before  a  would-be  liberator  wedged  through 
the  crowd  and  order  Pod  to  clear  the  thoroughfare.  He 
was  that  pompous  policeman.  He  eyed  Pod  severely,  and 
glancing  at  my  up-turned  face,  inquired : 

"What's  in  them  there  boxes,  Mister?" 

"Pills,"  said  Pod,  "just  pills,"  and  with  his  usual 
suavity  added,  "A  very  dainty-  but  effective  cathartic,  the 
best  remedy  in  the  world  for  a  morbid  patrolman.  I 
know  you  feel  out  of  sorts,  M r.  Cop,  but  the  contents  of 
one  of  these  boxes  taken  internally  will  make  you  imag- 
ine you  are  not  only  the  chief  of  the  Chicago  police  but 
the  Mayor  of  the  city*  and  the  President  of  the  United 
States  combined." 

The  Professor  then  handed  the  man  a  small  box,  and 
proceeded  to  free  me.  And,  do  you  know,  I  choked 
Michigan  Boulevard  for  an  hour  before  I  was  got  "right 
side  up  with  care." 

We  next  moved  on  to  the  Columbus  Statue,  which  then 
stood  in  a  barren  spot  between  the  road  and  the  lake 
shore,  where  a  photographer  waited  to  take  some  rare 
views  of  our  outfit.  The  bombastic  policeman  ordered  us 
off  the  grass,  although  there  was  nothing  but  gravel  in 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

sight.  Cheese  was  raving  mad  and  so  annoyed  by  the 
cop's  impertinence  that  he  boldly  made  a  bluff  at  eating 
the  sculptured  stone  wreath  off  the  statue,  just  to  worry 
him. 

"Mac  A'Rony,  please  keep  your  ears  still  for  one  mo- 
ment, will  you?"  said  the  photographer,  as  he  took  hold 
of  my  flaps  and  pushed  them  forward,  adding,  "Now 
keep  them  there." 

As  he  let  go  they  flew  back  into  a  natural  position  like 
blades  of  whalebone.  Next  he  twisted  my  nose  almost 
out  of  shape,  and  addressed  me  as  if  I  were  a  lady. 
"Now,  smile  gently — there!"  Such  a  grin  as  I  gave! 
The  instant  he  removed  the  black  cloth  from  the  camera, 
a  familiar  lump  came  up  in  my  throat,  and  I  brayed.  My 
efforts  to  restrain  myself  joggled  my  ears  out  of  gear  and 
completely  shook  the  smile  off  my  face.  But  I  was 
"took,"  body  and  bra'in's,  with  the  whole  outfit. 

How  I  shudder,  when  I  gaze  upon  those  photographs ; 
my  drooping  eyes,  and  my  lazy  body — all  taken  together 
made  a  picture  so  perfectly  asinine  that  one  can  almost 
detect  the  bray  leaving  my  mouth.  I  have  always  been 
ashamed  of  that  picture  of  real  life.  Like  all  donkeys,  I 
was  disappointed  because  my  photo  did  not  flatter  me. 
Besides,  my  master's  eagerness  to  keep  his  contract  to 
advertise  a  patent  medicine  led  him  to  drape  Don  in  a 
gray  blanket,  on  which,  "Throw  physic  to  the  dogs,"  was 
brilliantly  embroidered — words  which  helped  make 
Shakespeare  immortal,  but  caused  Don  to  blush. 

It  was  a  long  jaunt  to  Illinois  street.  Several  times  my 
burden  threatened  to  come  off.  And  once  I  almost  made 
a  free  distribution  of  pills  by  falling  in  front  of  an  electric 
car,  which  was  brought  to  a  stand  only  six  inches  from 
me. 

I  caused  a  sensation,  to  '  say  the  least.      And  when 

156 


DONK  CAUSES  A  SENSATION 

Cheese  brayed  in  terror,  a  multitude  flocked  to  the  scene. 
The  passengers  were  thrown  out  of  their  seats,  some  of 
them  pitched  off  the  front  platform  on  the  top  of  me,  and 
screamed  with  fright. 

Pod,  of  course,  flew  into  a  rage.  He  accused  me  of  at- 
tempting suicide;  but  Cheese  loyally  defended  me  and 
said,  "Such  a  load  of  medicine  is  enough  to  prostrate  a 
herd  of  elephants." 

Soon  afterward,  on  turning  a  corner,  the  wind  blew 
Pod's  hat  off,  and  it  went  flying  under  the  wheels  of  a 
cable  car  which  completely  ironed  the  curl  out  of  the  hat 
rim  on  one  side,  and  gathered  a  crowd  on  the  other. 

"Managing  one  jackass  is  a  difficult  job,  but  controlling 
two  is  impossible,"  I  heard  Pod  mutter,  as  he  slapped  his 
plug  on  his  bald  pate. 

Although  it  was  only  five  miles  to  Garfield  Park  as 
the  crow  flies,  it  was  ten  by  the  course  we  took.  At  that 
place  we  were  not  overfed,  and  soon  after  leaving  we  en- 
countered an  electric  hail  storm.  Volley  after  volley  of 
round  shot  ripped  open  Pod's  ill-fated  tile,  and  his  spleen 
broke  loose  again.  "I'm  glad  this  day's  most  ended !"  he 
thundered.  His  remark  seemed  to  solicit  sympathy,  so  I 
answered  gravely,  "My  worthy  master,  remember  that 
days  are  but  the  pulse-beats  of  immortal  time.  You 
should  cherish  each  as  you  do  every  heart  throb."  My 
philosophic  words  silenced  him  for  a  moment.  Then,  as 
if  I  might  warp  the  wearisome  hour  by  a  mute  tongue,  I 
lay  back  my  tail  and  ears  till  they  were  parallel  with  the 
road,  and  landed  my  cargo  in  Oak  Park  before  six. 

There  was  no  hotel  in  sight,  but  as  it  was  not  yet  dark, 
Pod  was  enabled  to  find  a  barn,  adjoining  a  saloon,  and 
there  he  stalled  us,  fed  and  watered  us,  and  said  good 
night. 


i57 


CHAPTER  XX. 

BY  PYE  POD. 

Full  in  the  midst  the  polish'd  table  shines, 
And  the  bright  goblets,  rich  with  generous  wines ; 
Now  each  partakes  the  feast,  the  wine  prepares, 
Portions  the  food,  and  each  the  portion  shares ; 
Nor  till  the  rage  of  thirst  and  hunger  ceased 
To  the  high  host  approached  the  sagacious  guest. 

— Homer's  Odyssey. 

I  left  my  embryo  caravan  in  Oak  Park  for  the  night, 
and  returned  to  the  Auditorium  Hotel.  The  clerk  greeted 
me  with,  "Well!  well!"  grasped  my  outstretched  hand, 
and  with  a  smile  said,  "I  thought  your  picturesqueness 
had  left  us  for  good."  Then,  pulling  a  pen  out  of  the 
vegetable  pen-stand  which  squinted  "How  to  do?"  with 
one  remaining  eye,  he  handed  it  to  me. 

"I'm  a  hard  customer  to  get  rid  of,"  I  remarked ;  "could 
not  get  out  of  the  city  entirely  this  day,  though  I've  trav- 
eled miles — jacks  at  Oak  Park — saloon  barn,  best  I  could 
find — no  hotel — got  to  eat  and  sleep,  you  know."  And 
having  said  this,  I  walked  majestically  to  the  "lift." 

"Seventh  floor  ?"  queried  the  elevator  boy. 

"No — dining  room,"  I  corrected,  patting  my  stomach 
fondly. 

"Pretty  late  for  feed,  guess,"  observed  the  lad  discour- 
agingly,  as  we  began  to  rise. 

"There's  a  banquet  on  now,"  continued  the  lad. 

"Great  Balaam!  I  am  late!"  I  exclaimed.     "I've  been 

158 


A'  DONKEY    FOR    ALDERMAN. 

a  week  saving  my  appetite  for  this  dinner.  Let  'er  slide 
kid — there!"  and  I  hurried  to  the  dining-room. 

I  knocked  persistently  against  the  locked  doors,  while 
savory  odors  drifted  through  the  keyhole,  and  was  soon 
admitted  by  the  assistant  head-waiter.  I  smile  now  as  I 
recall  that  watermelon  grin,  when  the  darkey  yawned 
like  a  coalbin  in  expression  of  his  greeting. 

"I'm  somewhat  embarrassed,  Jim,  to  appear  so  tardy," 
I  began,  "I  had  about  decided  to  deny  myself  the  honor 
and  pleasure  of  the  event.  You  see,  my  friends  are  all 
togged  out  in  their  pigeon-tails,  while — just  look  at  me." 

"Why,  Mistah  'Tagras,  shuah  dey  will  be  glad  to—" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know  they  would  be  more  pleased  to  see 
me  in  my  odd  regulation  clothes;  but  no,  not  this  time, 
Jim ;  close  your  scuttle — mum's  the  word.  Just  let  me 
eat  in  this  snug  corner  where  I  can  hear  the  strains  of 
the  orchestra,  out  of  reach  of  their  stale  jokes.  Fetch 
on  the  viands."  As  I  concluded  I  pressed  a  coin  into 
the  mahogany  hand,  and  took  from  my  coat  a  button 
containing  Mac's  and  Pod's  photo,  and  gave  it  to  the 
delighted  darkey. 

There  was  novelty  in  this  strange  situation.  It  was 
the  only  feast  I  remembered  ever  having  attended  unin- 
vited. 

Across  the  spacious  hall,  obscured  by  Japanese 
screens,  sat  the  garrulous  banqueters,  blissfully  ignorant 
of  my  presence,  while  I,  a  famished  and  jaded  nomad, 
sat  comfortably  drinking  in  the  liquid  music  of  the  sere- 
nade and  inflating  my  gastronomical  pipes  with  terra- 
pin, squab,  robin's  eggs,  salads  and  other  dainties  galore. 

Presently  I  was  served  with  something  more  melliflu- 
ous than  music,  as  Jim  appeared  with  a  bottle  of  that 
familiar  sparkling  liquid,  which  is  proverbially  wrapped 
in  cobwebs  and  frost,  in  a  pail  of  ice,  and  said:  "Believe 

i59 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

yo'  sayed  Mumm,  Sah — be  dis  yo'  taste,  Mistah  Tag- 
ras?"  My  eyes  eloquently  expressed  my  sentiments. 
Oh,  what  a  nerve  tissue  a  donkey  journey  does  create! 
As  I  quaffed  the  soul-stirring  nectar,  I  thought  of  Mac 
A'Rony — how  he  would  have  relished  a  quart  of  that 
sterling  brand! — and  then  poured  a  bumper  for  him  and 
drank  it  to  his  very  good  health. 

When  I  had  finished,  I  called  the  waiter  and  said,  with 
visible  effort:  "Jim,  I  wish — hie — you  would  tell  th' 
bandmaster  (here  Jim  poked  a  napkin  into  his  mouth), 
that  a  tardy  guest — hie — heartily  requests  the  pat — patri- 
otic— hie  tune  Macaroni's  come  to  town.  Go,  Jim,  that's 
a  good  girl."  And  Jim  went. 

That  waiter  was  the  cleverest  darkey  I  ever  came 
across.  We  all  well  know  that  one  trait  of  a  thorough- 
bred darkey  is  the  faculty  for  invention.  Imagine  my 
surprise  when  the  fellow  returned  with  a  gentleman  in 
full  dress  and  introduced  me.  I,  expecting  to  catch 
something  different,  failed  to  catch  his  name. 

My  new  acquaintance  seemed  to  feel  highly  honored 
with  the  presentation.  He  appeared  a  bit  staggered, 
though,  and  with  difficulty  found  my  wandering  hand. 
Taking  my  arm,  he  escorted  and  introduced  me  to  the 
convivial  assembly  as  the  distinguished  guest  of  the  even- 
ing— "though  somewhat  belated,  nevertheless  his  genial 
presence  duly  appreciated." 

When  he  mentioned  the  name  of  Professor  Pythagoras 
Pod  such  applause  issued  from  the  unsteady  occupants  of 
the  hundred  chairs  that  I,  thinking  it  my  courteous  duty 
to  join  in  the  encore,  clapped  my  hands  vigorously.  This 
seemed  to  provoke  great  merriment.  The  laughter  and 
clapping  grew  louder  and  louder,  until  hands  and  throats 
were  inadequate  to  express  the  jubilant  spirits  of  the 
banqueters,  and  they  began  to  stamp  their  feet.  Finally 

160 


A    DONKEY    FOR    ALDERMAN. 

all  arose,  threw  in  the  air  imaginary  hats,  broke  glasses 
of  wine,  and,  in  fact,  I  don't  know  what  would  have  hap- 
pened if  the  manager  had  not  entered  the  scene. 

Finally,  some  one  called,  "Speech!  Speech!  A  speech 
from  Mr.  Pod!"  I  tried  to  respond.  I  didn't  believe  the 
guests  knew  who  I  was,  other  than  a  pod  of  some  sort. 
The  hotel  manager  did,  but  he  had  gone.  I  therefore 
decided  not  to  reveal  my  identity ;  I  would  act  the  invited 
guest  I  was  taken  to  be. 

I  did  not  speak  long.  What  I  said  was  ostensibly  so 
appropriate,  so  pointed,  so  witty,  so  apropos,  that  the 
frequent  cries  of  "Hear!  Hear!"  told  me  I  had  made  a 
hit,  and  it  was  time  to  stop.  I  have  no  recollection  of 
what  I  said  on  that  momentous  occasion,  but  I  apolo- 
gized for  the  abruptness  of  my  departure  on  the  plea 
that  I.  had  six  more  banquets  to  attend  that  evening, 
whereas  I  had  but  one  stomach. 

Wild  cheers  and  handclapping  greeted  my  speech. 
When  quiet  was  restored  I  offered  the  following  toast, 
asking  all  to  rise  with  rilled  goblets : 

Hie — here's  to  the  man,  boys,  here's  to  the  man 
Who — hie — has  the  sagacity,  gall,  and  who  can 
Partake  of  the  bless — hies — of  earth,  though  unbidden, 
Without  revealing  the  jack — hie — he  has  ridden; 
Here's  to — hie — his  pocket  and  here's  to — hie — his  purse — 
May  Balaam  shed  tears  when — hie — he  rides  in  a  hearse. 

With  a  concerted  "Bravo!"  all  drank  my  health.  Then, 
hat  in  hand,  I  followed  a  very  tortuous  route  out  and  to 
the  elevator,  and  soon  afterward  found  the  keyhole  of 
my  chamber  door,  and  retired. 

I  did  not  feel  well  in  the  morning,  but  nevertheless 
journeyed  to  Oak  Park  at  an  early  hour. 

What  a  surprise  awaited  me  at  the  barn!    The  air  was 

161 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

dense  with  the  odor  of  beer.  I  had  hardly  anticipated 
trouble  brewing;  nothing  was  so  foreign  to  my  thoughts 
as  the  possibility  of  rinding  two  asinine  inebriates  and  a 
"jagged"  canine  instead  of  the  sober  company  I  left  the 
evening  before. 

But  there  they  lay,  both  donkeys  paralyzed,  panting 
and  blear-eyed.  An  overturned  beer  keg  swam  in  the 
deluge  of  froth  that  flooded  the  floor.  Mac  must  have 
pulled  the  bung  out  of  the  keg.  The  fellow  looked  guilty 
enough,  but,  when  I  recalled  my  own  recent  dissipation, 
I  didn't  have  the  heart  to  upbraid  him. 

I  was  perplexed.  What  could  I  do?  To  resume  my 
pilgrimage  that  morning  was  out  of  the  question.  I 
felt  in  my  bones  that  as  soon  as  the  saloonkeeper  learned 
of  the  calamity,  I,  Pythagoras  Pod,  would  have  to  pay 
damages.  Such  I  could  not  well  afford.  Why  not  go 
to  the  man  and  enter  a  complaint  against  him  for  har- 
boring knock-out  drops,  and  consequently  causing  my 
valuable  animals  ruination  of  mind,  physique  and  moral 
character? 

A  capital  idea!  No  sooner  thought  than  done.  The 
man  was  speechless. 

"Why!"  I  exclaimed,  pounding  my  fist  hard  down  on 
the  oaken  bar,  "think  of  it !  a  day's  delay  may  lose  me  my 
five  thousand  dollar  wager.  THINK  OF  IT,  MAN! 
FIVE  THOUSAND  DOLLARS!!"  I  would  have  said 
more,  but  I  noticed  the  Hibernian  was  knocked  com- 
pletely out  of  the  metaphorical  ring  by  my  unequivocal 
utterances.  His  blanched  countenance  showed  that  his 
conscience  smote  him.  He  paced  the  barroom  floor  like 
a  leopard  trying  to  get  away  from  his  spots.  Presently 
he  stopped,  and,  thrusting  his  fingers  through  his  goatee, 
looked  out  in  time  to  witness  Mac  A'Rony  turn  a  head- 
spring from  the  barn  door. 

162 


A    DONKEY    FOR   ALDERMAN. 

"Begorry!"  he  exclaimed,  "if  Oi  hod  that  mule,  Oi'd 
ruun  'im  for  alderman  of  the  Tinth  Ward.  Shure,  and 
it's  phure  air  and  wather  the  bye's  votin  fer.  It's  this 
Oi'm  sayin',  Misther  Pod,  Oi'll  give  ye  twinty-foive 
bones  fer  th'  brute  in  his  prisent  condishun;  Oi  will  that, 
ond  call  it  shquare." 

Mac  certainly  was  acting  very  compromisingly.  But 
I  explained  to  the  Irishman  no  reasonable  sum  could 
purchase  that  particular  donkey,  and,  furthermore,  that 
twenty-five  dollars  would  barely  satisfy  my  claims. 

The  exclamation  of  "Holy  Mither!"  checked  me  for 
the  moment,  and  as  the  man  looked  barnward  he  added, 
elequently  shaking  his  fists,  "Oi'm  dommed,  if  th' 
shcapegrace  ain't  mixin'  dhrinks!"  Here  Mr.  Rooney 
and  I  rushed  out  in  the  nick  of  time  to  prevent  my  crazy 
jack  from  tapping  a  whiskey  barrel  standing  in  the  shed 
adjoining  the  barn. 

"Misther  Pod,  a  curse  on  me  soul  if  Oi  would  ruun  th' 
bladherscat  fer  doorkeeper  oof  th'  pinnytinsury!  Here's 
tin  dollars,  tear  th'  likes  oof  it  in  two  and  rhuun  ond  buy 
a  bhromo  seltzer,  and  sober  th'  toper  oop  at  wance."  I 
took  the  proffered  note,  and  had  gone  but  a  hundred  feet 
when  the  Irishman  called  to  me,  "Hold  on ;  before  yez 
lave  fer  th'  sphace  of  a  mooment  moind  thet  ye  puts  a 
muzzle  on  th'  asrophoid  rephrobate  with  th'  bobtail  ears, 
ond  shpring  a  toime  lock  on  th'  crethur." 

The  animals  having  been  dosed,  I  was  about  to  ques- 
tion myself  "What  next?"  when  my  host  said  cordially, 
"Shure,  ond  yez  will  feed  with  us.  Yez  may  keep  th' 
change  from  th'  shinphlaster  ond  good  luck  in  sthore  fer 
yez.  Now,  coom  on  to  grub,  ond  lave  th'  brutes  alone. 
They'll  be  afther  havin'  their  sea  legs  soon."  And  Pat 
succeeded  in  conciliating  me,  and  escorted  me  to  the 
house. 

163 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

By  one  o'clock  my  disgraceful  donkeys  answered  to 
roll-call,  and  with  touching  humility  submitted  to  be 
saddled. 

With  such  disappointing  interpositions  of  Fate  the 
Golden  Gate  seemed  to  be  a  decade  removed.  For  a 
while,  the  donks  were  wavering  and  their  pedals  unreli- 
able; but  after  the  first  hour  they  meandered  along  quite 
acceptably.  As  Mac  was  slow  to  recuperate,  I  rode 
Cheese.  He  was  surprisingly  sure  of  foot,  whereas  Mac, 
swell-headed,  drowsy-eyed  and  swaying,  couldn't  have 
walked  a  straight  line  a  yard  wide,  unless  it  was  a  yard  of 
grass.  He  walked  with  a  suspicious  tread,  like  one  ven- 
turing on  ice  which  threatened  his  death  bath  any  mo- 
ment. When  the  afternoon  was  well  advanced  Cheese 
showed  symptoms  of  lameness  in  his  nigh  fore-leg,  as  I 
had  feared,  in  consequence  of  his  late  circus.  We  passed 
May  wood  and  Elmhurst  as  we  followed  the  main-traveled 
road.  I  was  compelled  to  dismount  and  lead  my  cripple 
four  miles  to  Lombard.  Such  was  my  luck  in  the  State 
of  Illinois. 

It  was  after  dark,  the  second  day  out  of  Chicago,  and 
still  we  had  traveled  but  twenty  miles.  To  think — that 
munificent  gift,  Cheese,  was  already  an  invalid  on  my 
hands!  I  summoned  a  veterinary  surgeon,  and  listened 
to  his  diagnosis  with  solicitous  attention.  "Only  a  strain 
of  the  shoulder  muscles,"  said  he;  "must  have  run-hop- 
skip-and- jumped  to  get  such  a  strain — does  he  ever  play 
golf?  Will  require  a  full  week's  rest."  The  doctor  ren- 
dered his  professional  opinion  with  the  air  of  a  metro- 
politan specialist  prescribing  a  trip  to  Europe  for  some 
delicate  society  belle. 

Next  morning  I  rode  in  company  with  a  good  fellow 
two  miles  into  the  country,  where  I  purchased  a  very 
long-eared,  shapeless  donkey,  of  a  good  character,  and 

164 


A   DONKEY   FOR   ALDERMAN. 

quickly  rode  him  bare-back  to  town.  Then  I  sold  my 
cripple  at  auction  in  the  public  square. 

The  cumbersome  pack-boxes,  which  the  sturdy  Mac 
A'Rony  had  borne  without  a  murmur,  I  also  sold  to  pay 
the  doctor's  bill. 

The  following  day  saw  me  in  the  town  of  Wheaton, 
whose  reputed  beauty  I  failed  to  appreciate  in  a  pouring 
rain.  I  remained  there  over  Saturday  night  and  Sunday. 

The  clipping  of  Cheese  II  on  Monday  morning  proved 
to  be  an  exhibition  well  worth  witnessing — at  a  safe  dis- 
tance. That  "model"  character  turned  out  to  have  the 
temper  of  a  vixen.  First,  a  rope  was  twisted  round  his 
nose,  then  his  four  legs  were  tied  securely  together,  and 
finally  six  strong  men  held  him  down- on  the  floor  to  per- 
mit the  finishing  touches  to  his  vibrating  limbs,  while 
carefully  avoiding  the  finishing  touches  to  their  lives. 

Instantly  the  half  dozen  assistants  were  sent  sprawling 
across  the  floor  in  all  directions,  while  the  stable  dog 
chased  an  imaginary  bird  into  space  and  landed  in  a 
poultry  yard.  The  frightened  donkey  was  mad,  or  had 
a  fit.  On  the  other  hand,  Mac,  in  the  noisy  excitement, 
pumped  his  bronchial  organs  to  their  utmost  capacity, 
and  Don  joined  in  the  chorus,  till  any  passer-by  might 
easily  have  mistaken  the  barn  for  a  slaughter  house. 
Finally,  the  unruly  subject  was  got  under  control,  and  in 
time  released  on  bail  (of  hay).  I  verily  believe  that  the 
electricity  generated  by  that  clipped  donkey,  if  stored, 
could  have  propelled  a  trolley  for  twenty-four  hours. 

During  the  ensuing  week,  the  villages  of  Geneva,  El- 
beron,  Maple  Park  and  Courtland  in  turn  greeted  me 
with  the  usual  curiosity  and  concern,  and  I  was  spared 
to  enter  De  Kalb  on  Wednesday  evening,  after  a  most 
distressing  adventure.  When  we  had  proceeded  about 
two  miles  beyond  Courtland,  I  unchained  my  dog  for  a 

165 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

short  sportive  recess.  I  rode  Mac,  and  about  three  feet 
to  our  right  ambled  Cheese,  a  chain  connecting  his  bit 
with  my  saddlehorn.  My  little  troop  was  peacefully 
traversing  the  smooth  country  road  when  suddenly  Don 
came  bounding  down  the  highway,  chasing  a  little  red 
calf,  the  dog  barking  gleefully,  the  calf  bellowing  with 
fright.  Drawing  my  revolver,  I  fired  to  distract  Don's 
attention ;  but  without  avail.  A  few  moments  later,  as  I 
was  aiming  at  a  flock  of  black  birds,  I  heard  the  ominous 
clatter  of  hoofs  rapidly  approaching  us  from  the  rear, 
accompained  by  a  deep,  hoarse  mooing,  which  clearly 
emanated  from  a  calf  of  mature  years.  Imagine  my  feel- 
ings when,  turning  in  my  seat,  I  beheld  an  enraged  cow 
racing  with  Don  in  a  bee  line  for  me,  the  dog  in  the  lead 
going  a  mile  a  minute,  the  bovine  a  mile  and  a  quarter. 
It  was  the  first  I  had  known  Don  to  flee  from  a  foe. 
His  eye  now  protruded,  his  tongue  hung  out  a-foam, 
and  his  tail  lay  back  straight  like  an  arrow. 

As  I  remember,  the  dog  passed  under  the  chain  con- 
necting my  donkeys,  and  instantly  with  the  force  of  a 
locomotive  something  alive  plunged  in  our  midst,  strik- 
ing the  chain.  How  many  double  somersaults  I  turned 
I  know  not.  How  many  minutes  we  remained  in  the 
dusty  road  overturned  in  a  heap  I  can  only  estimate 
from  the  distance  the  lucky  dog  must  have  traveled  to 
get  out  of  sight  so  soon. 

My  first  mental  reflection  was  that  the  cow  must  be 
the  calf's  mother;  my  second  thought  was  to  save  my 
life.  I  managed  somehow  to  crawl  out  from  under  the 
animated  heap,  and  then  surveyed  the  situation.  The 
cow's  horns  were  fast  in  the  chain  and  one  of  her  feet 
in  the  saddle  gear;  and  she  tossed  her  head  savagely, 
every  time  lifting  one  donkey  or  the  other  bodily  off  the 
ground  and  dropping  him  in  a  heap  in  the  dust.  She 

166 


A    DONKEY    FOR   ALDERMAN. 

kicked  and  bellowed,  until,  finally  breaking  loose  minus 
a  horn,  she  made  for  me  head  down,  innocent  as  I  was. 

I  didn't  stop  to  argue,  but  lit  out  for  the  barbed  wire 
fence  with  that  outraged  mother  at  my  heels.  I  have 
heard  you  can  tell  how  fast  a  man  thinks  by  the  way  he 
eats.  You  could  have  told  how  fast  I  thought  by  the  way 
I  ran.  Over  the  fence  I  leaped,  leaving  my  long  coat- 
tail  hanging  from  the  top  strand  of  wire.  The  cow, 
blinded  with  rage,  made  a  lunge  at  the  piece  of  cloth  only 
to  lacerate  her  head  on  the  barbs;  then  she  jumped  the 
fence  and  took  after  me,  tail  in  air,  and  foam  dripping 
from  her  mouth. 

A  small  tree  stood  by  the  roadside  not  far  distant,  and 
I  cleared  the  fence  again  and  made  for  it.  Although  not 
an  expert  at  climbing,  I  shinned  aloft  like  a  squirrel, 
and  for  a  moment  expected  the  bovine  to  follow.  She 
reared  on  her  haunches,  and  pawed  furiously  at  the  sway- 
ing branches;  then,  backing  several  feet,  she  charged 
headlong  against  the  sapling,  almost  dislocating  every 
bone  of  my  body  and  every  hair  of  my  head. 

All  but  shaken  out  of  the  tree-top,  I  contrived  to 
gather  in  my  legs  and  to  wind  them  round  the  slender 
trunk.  Then  I  reached  for  my  revolvers.  My  Colt  44 
was  missing,  but  with  my  Smith  &  Wesson  32,  I  pep- 
pered that  cow,  until  I  shot  away  a  section  of  her  tail, 
and  sent  her  off  in  a  cloud  of  dust — like  a  howling,  rag- 
ing cyclone — in  the  direction  of  her  calf. 

I  waited  a  while  before  venturing  down  to  look  for 
my  animals,  now  conspicuous  for  tfieir  absence.  Dark- 
ness had  settled  on  the  scene.  Groping  my  way  up  the 
road,  I  soon  stumbled  over  a  pair  of  boots,  further  on  a 
camera,  and  a  hundred  yards  beyond  my  Winchester 
rifle,  minus  its  holster. 

Still  no  sign  of  donkeys  or  dog.    I  stopped  at  a  farm 

167 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

house  and  inquired:  "Have  you  seen  two  jackasses 
strolling  this  way?" 

The  agriculturist  pulled  his  goatee  as  he  surveyed  me 
from  foot  to  crown,  and  replied :  "No,  I  hain't  seen  two 
jackasses  strollin'  this  way,  but  a  whole  herd  of  'em  came 
tearing  past  my  barnyard  a-kitin'  about  an  hour  ago, 
skeerin'  the  cattle  I  was  a-milkin'  into  fits.  Why!  the 
brayin'  and  takin's  on  of  the  wild  beasts  caused  a  stam- 
pede of  my  hull  gol-darned  dairy.  What  be  ye  at  a-pes- 
terin'  round  these  parts  with  a  herd  of  wild  jackasses?" 

My  response  was  terse,  and  was  given  before  the  man 
had  finished.  I  hurried  on,  making  inquiries  at  other 
farmhouses  before  I  found  my  fugitive  caravan  huddling 
together  in  a  corral,  a  mile  beyond.  My  dog  was  with 
them,  but  no  cows  or  calves. 

Borrowing  a  lantern  and  two  halters,  I  retraced  my 
steps  down  the  highway,  my  unwilling  animals  in  tow, 
and  resaddled  and  packed  them  as  best  I  could;  then  I 
returned  the  loan  and  hastened  to  town. 


168 


"///  this  way  I 

crossed  that  bridgt 

of  size." 


I  "/  saw  the  streak 
of  daylight." 

.. 


"So  slow  that  his  shadow'  beat  him  to  town.' 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


An  uneducated  person,  seeing  a  picture  of  a  donkey  in  a  field, 
sees  only  a  donkey  in  a  field,  however  well  it  may  be  painted,  and 
I  fancy  very  exceptional  ability  would  be  required  to  make  any  of 
us  think  a  gray  donkey  sublime,  or  believe  an  ordinary  field  to  be 
one  of  Elysian. — Ideala — Sarah  Grand. 

There  will  be  many  converts  to  the  Darwinian  Theory 
by  the  time  I  have  taken  Pythagoras  Pod  to  his  destina- 
tion. They  are  recruiting  all  along  the  line. 

The  Professor's  street  lecture  in  De  Kalb  in  a  mist  was 
punctuated  with  effusive  allusions  to  his  "obstreperous 
asses,"  which  epithet  only  strengthened  our  ill-feeling 
toward  him,  and  furnished  a  new  incentive  for  Cheese's 
rascality.  When  Pod  reached  the  middle  of  an  elegant 
burst  of  rhetoric,  that  animal,  true  to  asinine  instinct, 
pushed  a  hind  foot  against  the  orator's  stomach  and 
brought  the  speech  to  a  finish.  The  afflicted  one  was  ten- 
derly borne  away,  I  know  not  whither,  but  Cheese  whis- 
pered probably  to  a  blacksmith's  where  a  bellows  could  be 
had  with  which  to  pump  wind  into  the  vacuum. 

The  following  day,  my  master  having  come  to,  it  was 
decreed  that  Cheese  and  I  be  taken  to  a  smith's  to  have 
our  corns  pared,  and  our  shoes  repaired.  Whenever  Pod 
has  an  idle  moment — thank  Balaam  he  hasn't  many ! — he 
amuses  himself  by  torturing  a  donkey.  Shoes  are  a  nui- 
sance, especially  new  shoes,  and  I  would  much  rather  go 
barefoot  as  do  country  boys  and  girls. 

169 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

The  blacksmith,  an  expert  cobbler,  shook  hands  with 
us,  with  special  deference  to  Cheese,  who  was  to  have 
the  new  footgear,  then  informed  my  master  that  if  we 
jacks  would  treat  him  with  respect  he  would  do  what  was 
right,  but  if  not,  he  would  inflict  on  him  what  he  himself 
had  received  from  us.  I  overheard  Pod  mutter  as  he  de- 
parted that  he  was  sure  that  villain  Cheese  was  going  to 
kick  him  by  proxy. 

When  Pod  returned,  that  incorrigible  donkey  had  both 
smiths  in  a  corner,  and  was  kicking  knots  out  of  the  walls. 
Soon  that  shop  appeared  as  if  constructed  of  perforated 
cardboard,  and  the  two  men  as  if  they  were  worsted. 
Both  men  were  saved,  however,  by  Pod,  who  ran  to  a 
bakery  for  some  cakes  with  which  he  completely  sub- 
jugated the  murderous  brute,  and  enabled  the  men  to 
complete  the  work. 

All  next  day  we  labored  through  mud,  which  made  my 
feet  feel  good,  but  spoiled  the  looks  of  our  new  shoes. 
That  day  the  Professor  bought  a  new  donkey. 

"Sell  him  cheap,  sound  as  a  dye,"  said  the  man.  Per- 
haps this  was  the  truth,  but  he  was  the  funniest  donkey 
I  ever  set  eyes  on.  His  face  resembled  a  poodle  dog's,  ex- 
cept that  it  was  longer,  and  he  appeared  to  be  a  combina- 
tion of  crosses  between  South  American  llama,  Rocky 
Mountain  sheep,  baby  camel,  and  muley  cow,  with  only  a 
sprinkling  of  donkey  blood.  After  this  freak  was  roped 
to  my  saddle  and  we  had  proceeded  a  little  way,  I  asked, 
"Excuse  me,  friend,  but  what  stock  did  you  descend 
from?" 

"Why,  live  stock,"  said  the  simpleton. 

The  rest  of  us  hid  our  faces;  but  I  persisted,  "Who's 
your  father?" 

"I  never  had  a  father,"  he  returned.  "If  I  did,  he  never 
showed  up  in  my  lifetime.  As  for  my  mother,  she  kicked 

170 


A   DONK   WITHOUT   A   FATHER. 

the  tenderloins  out  of  a  farmer's  thoroughbred  pig,  in 
consequence  of  which  I  was  left  to  shift  for  myself,  so 
you  can't  call  me  a  shiftless  fellow/' 

Well,  the  poor  fellow  ain't  quite  as  bad  off  as  Topsy,  I 
thought — she  had  neither  father  nor  mother. 

For  a  week  back  Cheese  had  been  complaining  of  a 
weak  foot,  which  explains  why  Pod  desired  an  emerg- 
ency donkey.  The  heavy  roads  would  have  taxed  a  dray 
horse.  But  by  shifting  the  burden  from  Cheese  and  my- 
self to  the  new  acquisition  we  were  able  to  make  better 
time  with  less  effort. 

The  sun  was  hot,  and  Poodle's  long  coat  dripped  with 
perspiration.  Before  long,  we  were  stopped  in  front  of  a 
house,  where  a  man  was  cutting  the  grass  with  a  lawn- 
mower. 

"Hay,  there,  Mister !"  Pod  shouted ;  "will  you  loan  me 
that  machine  a  moment?  I'll  remunerate  you  handsomely 
for  the  kindness." 

The  farmer  just  shouldered  that  machine  and  fetched  it 
down  to  the  roadside.  Then  my  master  dismounted,  and 
whispering  to  the  granger  something  I  couldn't  under- 
stand, to  my  utter  astonishment  deliberately  pushed  that 
lawn-mower  almost  the  whole  length  of  that  donkey's 
back. 

I  recall  the  incident  so  vividly.  First  sounded  the  noisy 
swish  of  the  mower,  next  the  fragrant  air  was  hazy  with 
flying  hair,  hat,  man  and  mowing  machine.  A  moment 
of  painful  silence  followed,  when  suddenly  a  clatter  from 
the  roof  of  the  house  indicated  that  the  jackass  had 
promptly  returned  the  machine  to  its  owner. 

Poor  Pod,  it  looked  as  if  he  were  no  mower.  The  farm- 
er laid  him  gently  on  the  grass,  where  he  finally  awoke, 
and  with  the  aid  of  hard  cider  and  a  fanning  machine  was 
restored.  Three  miles  beyond  he  caught  the  refractory 

171 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

jack  that  meant  only  to  harm  the  machine,  he  said,  and 
not  the  man,  and  securing  a  slipnoose  to  Poodle's  tail, 
roped  him  to  my  saddle;  next  he  tied  Cheese  to  my  tail, 
and  leaping  aboard  his  new  expedient  led  the  way. 

All  at  once  Poodle  espied  two  donkeys  grazing  in  a 
field.  "I  must  say  a  farewell  to  my  sweethearts  before 
leaving,"  he  protested,  braying  and  making  a  dash  for  the 
fence,  dragging  me  after  him.  I  often  wonder  if  he  had 
any  feeling  left  in  his  tail  after  that ;  for  while  it  pained 
me  to  drag  Cheese,  it  must  have  caused  Poodle  more  pain 
to  tow  us  two  by  resorting  to  such  a  sensitive  extreme. 
Had  not  the  fence  been  a  thorn  hedge,  I  verily  believe 
that  that  "Samson"  would  have  dragged  us  across  lots  to 
his  sweethearts.  I  never  saw  Pod  so  enraged. 

On  nearer  approach  to  Rochelle,  we  stopped  in  front  of 
a  house  where  Pod  purchased  a  drink  of  milk  of  a  woman 
who  was  passing  milk  cans  to  a  man  in  a  wagon.  Neither 
the  man  nor  the  woman  asked  a  question,  much  to  my 
surprise,  until  we  had  proceeded  some  distance,  when  to 
prevent  a  tragedy,  nature  asserted  herself  and  impelled 
the  woman  to  call  out :  "Say,  what  be  them  thar  animiles 
ye-ve  got,  stranger  ?" 

"Two  are  camels,  and  one  is  a  dromedary,"  Pod  yelled. 

"Dromedary!"  The  woman  exclaimed;  and,  to  the 
man,  added,  "That's  a  new  sort  of  dairy  I  never  heered 
tell  of.  Did  you,  Hank?" 


172 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

BY  PYE  POD. 

"By  my  faith,  Signer  Don  Quixote,"  quoth  the  duchess,  "that 
must  not  be;  you  shall  be  served  by  four  of  my  damsels,  all 
beautiful  as  roses."  "To  me,"  answered  Don  Quixote,  "they 
will  not  be  as  roses,  but  even  as  thorns  pricking  me  to  the  very 
soul ;  they  must  in  nowise  enter  my  chamber." — Don  Quixote. 

From  Rochelle  to  the  Mississippi  I  found  the  people 
more  conservative,  but  interesting  subjects  for  character 
study.  The  topography  of  the  country  varied  but  little 
Snipe,  quail,  doves  and  meadow  larks  were  prevalent. 
The  pesty  pocket-gophers  were  as  shy  of  my  fire-arms 
as  of  the  farmers'  dogs ;  one  might  shoot  a  dozen  of  them 
only  to  see  the  spry  little  fellows  drop  dead  into  their 
"home-made"  graves.  I  have  seen  hundreds  of  them  sit- 
ting upright  on  as  many  mounds,  immovable  as  sticks,  but 
pop !  and  they  vanished. 

Crossing  this  one-time  prairie  state,  I  recalled  pictures 
of  prairie  fires  in  my  school-books,  and  easily  imagined 
the  terror  of  the  droves  of  wild  horses  and  buffalo,  fleeing 
before  the  leaping  flames. 

This  seemed  to  be  a  contented  section,  and  contentment 
is  a  great  thing.  Although  no  woodland  was  visible,  I 
saw  occasional  clusters  of  "pussy  willows,"  and  groups  of 
shade-trees  embowering  a  house,  above  which  the  shaft 
of  an  aeromotor  towered  like  a  sentinel,  asserting  the 
homestead  rights.  When  the  windwheels  were  in  motion, 
they  created  a  noise  which  only  an  expert  linguist  could 
distinguish  from  the  vernacular  of  a  guinea  hen. 

173 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRiCAJNu.  DECK 

"Here  and  there  bunches  of  cattle  browsed  in  the  mead- 
ows behind  barbed-wire  fences  and  thorn  hedges ;  and 
long  corn-cribs,  often  full  to  overflowing,  had  rewarded 
most  every  farmer. 

About  dark,  May  first,  my  small  caravan  ambled  into 
the  village  of  Ashton,  and  my  bugle  blasts  aroused  the 
nodding  inhabitants  sufficiently  to  give  me  a  fair  audience 
for  a  lecture.  The  Germans  predominated,  and  to  them 
May-day  festivals  are  indispensable.  Boys  and  girls  cele- 
brate by  hanging  May-baskets  on  door  knobs,  and  a  few 
wags,  who  resemble  frogs,  in  that  a  half  dozen  make  you 
think  they  are  a  million,  shower  corn,  sand  and  bird  shot 
at  windows  equal  to  a  Kansas  hail-storm. 

The  celebration  that  night  seemed  to  be  directed  at  my 
particular  window.  The  racket  had  almost  soothed  me  to 
sleep,  when  suddenly  a  rag  doll  loaded  with  shot  came 
smashing  through  the  blinds  and  landed  on  my  bed.  My 
patience  overtaxed,  I  arose  and  resorted  to  free  trade  by 
exporting  to  the  street  a  piece  of  crockery,  and  a  chair, 
not  to  mention  a  few  roasted  invectives.  I  would  have 
folded  my  bedstead  and  sent  it  sailing  after  them,  but  the 
disturbance  of  the  peace  and  the  pieces  ceased  together. 

While  at  breakfast  I  wondered  if  any  tricks  had  been 
played  on  my  animals.  I  was  quite  sure  of  it  before  reach- 
ing the  stable.  The  livery  keeper  came  hobbling  up  on 
one  foot  and  a  crutch,  with  his  face  done  up  in  fly-paper, 
and  a  bandage  around  his  head. 

"What's  up?"  I  asked. 

"Jacks  got  the  spasms." 

"You  mean  spavins,"  I  corrected,  innocently  enough. 

"Guess  I  ought  to  know  the  difference  'tween  spasms 

and  spavins,"  he  returned,  sourly.  "Those  d mules 

o'  yourn  kicked  out  petitions,  hollared,  and  had  such  fits 

174 


RAT   TRAP   AND   DONKEY'S   TAIL. 

last  night  that  they  scared  all  the  mice  and  rats  outen  the 
haymow." 

" What  kind  of  petitions  ?"  I  asked,  remembering  I  had 
been  tempted  to  issue  a  petition  on  my  own  account. 

"What  kind  d'y,  'spose?  Wooden  petitions,"  said  he. 
"And  when  I  crawled  out  o'  bed  and  went  to  the  stalls  to 
see  what  ailed  'em " 

"Ailed  the  petitions  ?"  I  interrupted,  excitedly. 

"Naw,  the  mules, — something  like  a  thousand  rats  and 
mice  ran  over  my  bare  feet.  I  thought  the  barn  must  be 
afire,  and  I  jumped  so  the  lantern  fell  outen  my  hand  and 
broke,  and  I  had  to  feel  my  way  in  the  dark." 

"You  ought  to  know  better  than  to  feel  around  strange 
donkeys,  night  or  day,"  said  I,  reprovingly. 

"It  wasn't  th'  feelin'  of  'em  what  broke  me  up  so,"  said 
he.  '  'Twas  the  kindlin'  wood  they  piled  up  again  me." 

"I  did  not  discuss  further  the  circumstances ;  I  was 
quite  satisfied,  since  we  had  grievances  in  common. 
While  settling  my  bill,  I  noticed  Mac  gaze  at  the  ceiling, 
so  I  glanced  upward,  too,  and  at  once  saw  hanging  to  a 
nail  on  a  cross-beam  a  circular  rat-trap,  bent  almost  flat, 
and  containing  two  dead  rodents.  That  solved  the  mys- 
tery. On  recovering  the  trap,  we  found  it  sprinkled  with 
donkey  hair,  and  sheep  twine,  which  was  proof  enough 
that  some  young  villain  had  fastened  a  cage  full  of  rats  to 
Mac  A'Rony's  tail,  he  being  the  most  amiable  of  the 
donkeys.  There  is  nothing  like  the  mysterious  to  frighten 
a  dumb  brute,  and  when  that  donkey  heard  strange  noises 
and  felt  mysterious  movements  about  his  hind  legs,  he 
didn't  wait  for  an  explanation.  Good-bye,  rats ! 

Although  the  day  dawned  clear,  dark  clouds  began 
early  to  bank  in  the  Southwest,  and  before  I  could  reach 
the  next  town  I  was  drenched  by  a  heavy  shower.  But  I 
was  fortunate  in  selling  Cheese  II,  my  weak-footed  jack, 

175 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

for  seven  dollars  to  the  village  butcher,  who,  while  in 
Ashton,  had  generously  fed  my  dog. 

Wet  to  my  skin,  I  took  refuge  in  a  German  tavern  man- 
aged by  a  widow  with  five  comely  daughters.  All  were 
kind  and  responsive  to  my  wants,  and  brought  to  my 
room  a  varied  assortment  of  house  pets,  literature,  and 
cheese,  not  omitting  a  bottle  of  beer,  for  my  entertainment 
and  refreshment,  while  I  remained  in  bed  enveloped  in 
comforters,  waiting  for  my  only  suit  of  clothes  to  dry  by 
the  kitchen  fire.  Meanwhile  I  became  almost  asphyxiated 
from  the  gas  generated  by  the  Limburger  cheese  which 
had  already  smothered  two  hearty  slices  of  bread.  The 
next  day  I  spent  in  Dixon,  and  the  following  day  in 
Sterling,  situated  on  Rock  River.  From  my  bedroom 
window  I  had  a  charming  view  of  the  dam  falls  and  the 
iron  bridge  which  spans  the  stream.  My  sojourn  in  both 
these  towns  was  profitable. 

It  was  a  hot  and  dusty  ride  to  Morrison,  where  I  found 
a  brass  band  serenading  a  leading  citizen.  "This  won't 
do,"  said  I ;  and  making  Mac  bray,  I  blew  my  bugle,  and 
at  once  turned  the  tide  of  popularity  in  our  favor.  The 
fickle  crowd  soon  gathered  and  cheered  me  to  the  hotel, 
while  the  jilted  band  had  the  brass  to  march  down  the 
street  past  me,  blowing  itself  with  might  and  main  until 
lost  to  view,  not  once  thinking  that  distance  lent  enchant- 
ment to  my  ear.  Next  day  we  made  slow  headway  to  the 
Mississippi. 

As  I  approached  the  "Father  of  Waters"  the  land,  as 
well  as  my  donkeys,  were  more  rolling.  Several  times 
when  wading  through  a  pool  of  dust,  Cheese  III,  alias 
Poodle,  would  suddenly  stop,  circle  about,  kneel  and  roll 
with  all  the  paraphernalia  he  was  carrying.  Then  my 
steed  would  follow  suit,  before  I  could  get  out  of  the 
saddle. 

176 


RAT  TRAP  AND   DONKEY'S   TAIL. 

Thirteen  miles  from  Morrison  lay  the  village  of  Fulton, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  and  it  was  4:30  P.  M. 
before  we  arrived  at  the  big  high  bridge.  The  bridge 
approach  on  each  side  of  the  river  crosses  a  broad  stretch 
of  lowlands  which  at  certain  seasons  is  inundated.  My 
donkeys  refused  to  pass  the  toll-gate,  although  I  had  paid 
the  toll.  I  demanded  of  Mac  an  explanation.  He  main- 
tained silence,  as  did  Cheese,  and  neither  of  them  would 
budge.  A  squad  of  laborers,  amused  at  my  plight,  as- 
serted their  donkey  nature  by  imitating  an  ass's  bray,  and 
so  perfect  was  the  imitation  that  my  animals  took  them  for 
donkeys  disguised  in  human  apparel,  and  joined  in  the 
awful  chorus.  Presently  a  timid  woman  following  us 
with  a  terpsichorean  horse  called  to  me  and  gesticulated 
wildly.  I  feared  a  runaway  and  was  at  a  loss  to  know 
how  to  urge  my  contrary  animals  on,  but  before  long  a 
double  dray  team  came  to  my  assistance.  The  teamster 
roped  Mac  to  the  rear  axle  of  his  wagon,  cracked  his 
whip,  and  drove  on,  dragging  the  obdurate  donkey  on  his 
haunches  across  the  bridge,  while  Cheese  crept  closely  be- 
hind in  fear  and  trembling. 

When  I  had  crossed  the  Mississippi  it  was  exactly 
seventeen  minutes  past  five. 

As  we  wended  our  way  into  Clinton,  la.,  cheers  greeted 
us  from  every  quarter.  "The  streets  were  rife  with  people 
pacing  restless  up  and  down ;"  but  soon  all  footsteps  fol- 
lowed in  one  direction,  to  the  Reviere  House,  where  I 
took  advantage  of  the  favorable  circumstances  to  make  a 
speech,  and  to  dispose  of  a  host  of  my  chromos. 

I  had  traveled  thirteen  hundred  and  sixty  miles,  about 
one-third  of  the  distance  by  trail  from  New  York  to  San 
Francisco,  and  had  consumed  one  hundred  and  sixty 
days ;  and  there  was  left  me  only  one  hundred  and  eighty- 
one  days  in  which  to  accomplish  the  remaining  two-thirds 
of  my  journey. 

177 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

Hell  is  paved  with  good  intentions. — Samuel  Johnson. 

How  the  Professor  ever  landed  that  lop-sided,  dilapi- 
dated tile  of  his  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Mississippi  with- 
out a  bottle  of  fish-glue  is  beyond  me. 

The  wind  gave  our  whole  outfit  a  good  blowing  up  for 
not  crossing  the  bridge  earlier  in  the  day,  and  Pod  had 
to  handle  the  hat  as  carefully  as  an  umbrella  to  prevent 
it's  turning  inside  out. 

Except  at  such  times,  we  donks  were  the  only  ones  to 
get  a  "blowing ;"  the  threats  Pod  used  to  coerce  us  across 
that  lofty  bridge  and  his  final  cruel  expedient  of  having 
a  double  team  drag  me  with  a  rope  around  my  neck  were 
enough  to  drive  one  to  suicide. 

"We  must  reach  Iowa  to-day,"  said  he.  "You  show  ab- 
solutely no  interest  whatever  in  the  next  state;  but  I'll 
convert  you."  I  protested  until  I  was  hoarse.  Said  I, 
"When  you  take  into  consideration  all  the  different  ani- 
mals that  came  out  of  the  ark, — monkey,  parrot,  man  and 
ass, — and  the  results  of  several  thousand  years  of  study 
and  research,  how  many  believe  in  any  other  state  ?  Only 
one.  Man.  There  are  a  few  horses  and  dogs  and  cats 
and,  occasionally,  a  white  rat,  that  enjoy  heaven  on  earth, 

but  we  jackasses  are  always  catching !     The  last 

word  of  my  peroration  was  spilled,  as  my  master  whacked 
me  over  the  ears  with  his  black-snake  whip  and  knocked 
all  the  theological  and  theosophical  considerations  out  of 
my  head. 

178 


MAC   CROSSES   THE  MISSISSIPPI. 

"Get  along,  there,  Mac,"  he  shouted,  "and  quit  your 
everlasting  braying;"  and  as  the  horses  started,  I  "got," 
to  save  my  neck. 

When  we  reached  the  middle  of  the  bridge  and  I  was 
over  my  dizziness,  I  slackened  my  neck  rope  and  followed 
the  wagon  more  willingly,  but  my  fetlocks  bled  from 
scraping  on  the  rough  planks  and  my  rich  aristocratic 
blood  painted  a  faint  red  trail  behind  us.  It  was  a  hot 
day ;  I  burned  as  with  a  fever,  and  wanted  a  drink. 

"And  they  call  this  the  'Father  of  Waters/  "  my  master 
soliloquized,  as  he  watched  the  sluggish  current  creep  un- 
der the  bridge. 

"What  do  they  call  the  father  of  beer?"  I  asked, 
facetiously,  for  I  was  mad. 

"Mac,"  said  Pod,  "you  have  brought  me  back  to  earth. 
Let  us  hurry  to  town." 

When  we  were  on  Iowa  soil,  the  Prof,  tied  his  "stove- 
pipe" over  my  ears  with  a  green  ribbon,  and  added 
insult  to  injury  by  making  me  parade  into  Clinton  in  that 
condition  before  all  the  genteel  donkeys  along  the  road. 

We  stopped  at  the  post-office,  and  Pod  read  on  the  way 
to  the  hotel  portions  of  two  letters,  one  informing  him 
that  his  sombrero  was  at  the  express  office,  the  other  cast- 
ing aspersions  on  my  race.  "Yes,  I  did  promise  to  meet 
you  at  the  Mississippi  and  accompany  you  across  the 
plains,"  the  letter  ran,  "but  really,  old  man,  after  reading 
your  articles,  I  have  concluded  that  I  want  nothing  to  do 
with  a  jackass." 

Pod  seemed  disappointed  and,  handing  the  envelope  to 
me,  said,  "Here,  Mac,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?"  I  greed- 
ily devoured  the  contents  without  a  murmur,  and  the  Pro- 
fessor galloped  into  the  express  office. 

"Do  you  realize  that  you  have  swallowed  a  postage 

179 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

stamp?"  Cheese  asked,  gravely,  after  I  had  stowed  away 
the  morsels  of  paper. 

"Most  assuredly,"  I  said,  smacking  my  lips,  "and  here- 
after you  can  look  upon  me  as  a  sort  of  internal  revenue 
collector." 

But  now  Pod  appeared  under  cover  of  a  broad-brimmed 
hat,  looking  frightfully  cowboyish.  That  evening  the 
sombrero  so  completely  unbalanced  his  head  that  he  saun- 
tered up  the  street  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  attempted  to 
"hold  up"  an  Indian  cigar  sign,  to  the  amusement  and 
terror  of  passing  pedestrians.  Later  on,  he  became  more 
rational,  and  gave  a  street  lecture. 

Friday,  May  seventh,  was  a  lucky  day  for  Pod  and 
me.  Friday  is  Pod's  and  the  seventh  of  the  month  is 
mine, — with  a  few  exceptions ;  hence,  the  Prof,  has  on 
an  average  of  four  and  a  half  to  my  one. 

His  first  errand  in  Clinton  was  an  act  of  courtesy.  He 
called  on  Mr.  Gobble,  the  genial  Mayor,  and  obtained  one 
of  his  quills  to  embellish  the  autograph  album  which  was 
destined  to  furnish  me  a  delectable  repast,  unless  Pod 
should  find  a  gold  cure  to  destroy  my  appetite  for  sta- 
tionery. 

His  second  errand  was  to  place  an  order  for  panniers  to 
be  made  after  his  own  designs,  for  they  would  soon  be 
needed;  and  his  third,  to  call  at  the  stable  and  superin- 
tend a  tonsorial  artist  clip  Cheese  III  after  the  devil's  de- 
signs. The  circus  had  begun  when  he  arrived.  There, 
tangled  in  straps  and  ropes,  lay  the  frightened  subject  on 
the  stable  floor,  kicking,  while  several  men  were  perform- 
ing rare  feats  of  tumbling.  Pod  was  indignant. 

"Is  it  necessary  to  pile  on  the  donkey  in  that  fashion  ?" 
he  inquired,  starting  up  a  ladder  to  the  loft. 

"I  reckon  so,  squire,"  said  the  clipper,  rubbing  his 
bruised  arm ;  "we  tied  the  brute  t'  auger-holes  in  the  floor, 

180 


MAC   CROSSES   THE   MISSISSIPPI. 

but  he  yanked  the  holes  plumb  out  o'  the  boards,  and  we 
bored  'em  in  agin.  Then  he  brayed,  and  strained,  and 
pulled  out  the  holes  agin.  What's  he  been  livin'  on? 
Indian  turnips  ?" 

Pulled  the  holes  out  of  the  floor!  Such  an  astonishing 
statement  was  enough  to  warp  a  donkey's  credulity.  But 
the  operation  was  finished  at  last,  and  Pod  returned  to  the 
hotel  to  answer  some  letters,  one  of  which  seemed  to  tickle 
him  very  much.  It  was  from  a  farmer  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  I'll  quote  it  word  for  word. 

CORNVILLE  HOLLO w,  IOWA,  May  6,  1897. 
Prof.  Pithygors  Pod,  Eskire,  M.  D. : 

Illustrious  Sir: — My  wife  has  give  me  unexpeckted 
opertunety  ter  do  ye  the  grate  onner  of  namin  our  latest 
and  last  kid  after  ye  and  if  ye  cum  this  here  way  ye  will 
see  a  namesake  ye  will  be  prowd  of.  Times  are  not  so 
good  with  us  of  late  but  hope  they  air  with  you  wishing 
you  a  sockses.sfull  jurny  I  remane  Yours  fraternally 

CY  SUMAC. 

I  did  not  see  Pod's  reply,  but  I  took  him  to  the  post  of- 
fice to  purchase  a  ninety-nine  cent  money  order,  which  he 
mailed  to  Cy,  and  overheard  him  say  that  was  all  the 
money  he  had  when  he  started  and  no  man  had  a  right  to 
think  he  was  any  richer  now,  and  hoped  naming  children 
after  him  wasn't  going  to  become  a  fad. 

On  our  way  to  the  hotel  a  little  girl,  walking  with  her 
papa,  expressed  the  wish  to  ride  on  my  back.  Pod  over- 
heard her,  and  jumping  off,  placed  the  little  one  in  the 
saddle,  and  led  me  down  the  street. 

Pod  is  never  safe  without  a  chaperone.  He  had  no 
more  than  got  his  land  legs  than  a  monstrous  colored 
woman,  whose  avoirdupois  was  out  of  proportion  to  her 

181 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

energy,  and  with  shoes  that  made  him  keep  his  distance, 
stepped  in  his  way,  and  with  a  grin  half  the  width  of  an 
adult  watermelon  asked  him  if  he  was  "shully  dat  wonder- 
ful traveler  Pye-tag-o-rastus  w'at  was  chasm'  a  mule  roun 
de  world." 

For  a  second  Pod  was  somewhat  colored,  too ;  but  he 
laughed,  and  said  he  believed  he  was  the  gentleman.  Then 
the  old  mammy  held  out  a  great  black  hand,  with  knotted 
fingers,  looking  more  like  an  elephant's  foot  than  anything 
else,  and  asked  if  she  might  have  the  honor  to  walk  a 
piece  with  him.  The  Professor  took  the  proffered  hand, 
and  the  pair  sauntered  on  down  town,  and  were  soon  lost 
in  the  crowd. 


182 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

BY  PYE  POD. 

"Why,  Toby's  nought  but  a  mongrel ;  there's  nought  to  look  at 
in  her."  But  I  says  to  him,  "Why,  what  are  you  yoursen  but  a 
mongrel  ?  There  wasn't  much  pickin'  o'  your  feyther  an'  mother, 
to  look  at  you."  Not  but  what  I  like  a  bit  o'  breed  myself,  but  I 
can't  abide  to  see  one  cur  grinnin'  at  another. — M ill  on  the  Floss. 

The  good  old  black  mammy,  who  made  my  acquaint- 
ance on  the  street,  called  upon  me  at  the  hotel  to  present 
me  with  a  little  dog.  I  thanked  her,  and  told  her  that 
one  dog  was  all  I  could  take  care  of;  whereupon  she  ar- 
gued that  I  should  visit  the  Indian  Reservation  at  Tama 
City,  and  if  I  presented  a  dog  to  the  Chief  that  I  would 
be  royally  received.  A  good  idea;  I  wondered  it  had  not 
occurred  to  me.  I  accepted  the  dog. 

An  hour  later  I  came  near  being  arrested  for  promot- 
ing a  dog  fight  in  defiance  of  the  law.  Don  was  gener- 
ous, however,  and  left  a  little  of  the  cur  for  the  Indian 
Chief,  but  next  morning  the  sight  of  a  bandaged  and 
plastered  dog  being  dragged  behind  my  outfit  was  grue- 
some indeed. 

This  is  how  I  managed  the  dogs.  I  chained  Don  to 
one  end  of  an  eight-foot  pole,  and  the  mongrel  to  the 
other,  so  that  the  dogs  could  not  get  closer  than  four 
feet.  Then  I  chained  Don  to  the  saddle-horn. 

I  hoped  to  reach  the  town  of  DeWitt  before  dark. 
Everything  went  smoothly  and  I  was  congratulating 
myself  on  getting  out  of  the  city  without  a  mishap,  when, 
suddenly,  both  dogs  leaped  to  the  opposite  side  of  my 

183 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

donkey  in  the  effort  to  reach  a  cat  basking  in  the  sun. 
The  pole  yoke  caught  Mac's  hind  legs  and  upset  us,  al- 
most causing  a  runaway.  This  and  other  incidents  de- 
layed me  many  hours.  On  arriving  at  the  village  tavern, 
"The  Farmers'  Home,"  I  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find 
the  landlord  not  so  much  out  of  spirits  as  I.  A  "night 
cap,"  then  to  bed. 

Next  day  I  rode  sixteen  miles,  through  the  beautiful 
farming  country  to  Wheatland.  Nature  was  arrayed  in 
Sabbath  attire,  and  no  sermon  could  have  inpressed  me 
more  than  the  pure,  sweet  voicings  of  God's  creation. 
Graceful  turtle-doves,  always  in  pairs,  flitted  in  mid-air; 
bevies  of  quail  whistled  in  the  meadows  and  ditches; 
flying-squirrels,  half  winged,  half  jumped  from  tree  to 
tree;  and  coy  Norwegian  girls  scampered  indoors  as  my 
"mountain  canaries"  now  and  then  joined  in  a  carol. 

Just  before  entering  town  a  gay  cotton-tail  rabbit 
shied  at  my  pistol  ball,  allowing  the  ball  to  graze  a  calf 
grazing  in  the  field  beyond,  to  wing  a  pigeon  on  a  barn 
further  on,  and  eventually  to  announce  my  advent  to  the 
towns-folk  in  a  most  singular  manner. 

When  I  arrived,  the  church  bell  was  faintly  tolling,  and 
a  crowd  of  people  were  staring  wild-eyed  at  the  belfry 
tower.  I  inquired  of  a  countryman  what  was  up. 

"Blamed  if  I  know,"  said  the  sexton;  "I  was  jest  set- 
tin'  down  to  feed,  when  sudden  I  heard  a  sharp  clang 
of  the  church  bell.  Sounded  like  it  was  hit  with  a  ham- 
mer. Whole  hour  before  church,  and  the  doors  are 
locked.  Now  I'd  like  to  know  what  sot  that  bell  to 
chantin'." 

"Go  up  and  find  out,"  I  said. 

"Not  on  yer  life,"  he  replied.  "You  may  think  us  folks 
superstitious — well,  we  are.  Lots  of  queer  things  hap- 
pen in  this  town." 

184 


POD   HIRES   A   VALET. 

When  I  reached  the  privacy  of  my  room,  I  did  a  good 
deal  of  thinking;  but  whichever  way  I  reasoned  I  arrived 
at  one  conclusion.  My  pistol  ball  must  have  struck  the 
bell  after  calling  on  the  calf  and  the  pigeon.  It  was 
merely  a  chant's  shot. 

The  landlord  of  the  Siegmund  Hotel  did  not  venture 
close  enough  to  shake  hands. 

"Doos  them  dogs  bite — yes?"  he  asked  from  the  ver- 
anda. 

"No,"  I  answered,  "they  won't  bite  you  and  me,  but 
they  are  very  fond  of  each  other." 

Don  looked  up  at  me  appealingly,  as  if  he  thought  he 
had  been  persecuted.  When  the  donkeys  and  the  mon- 
grel were  in  the  barn,  I  turned  Don  loose.  He  was 
tickled,  and  ran  round  the  barn  three  times,  jumped  over 
the  hen-coop,  upset  the  landlord,  and  then  chased  the 
house  cat  so  that  it  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  hotel  chim- 
ney. Most  extraordinary  dog;  no  common  pastime  sat- 
isfied him. 

The  hilly  country  I  was  now  entering  made  it  neces- 
sary for  me  to  walk  half  the  time,  as  a  precaution  against 
wearing  out  my  animals.  But  the  air  was  sweet  with 
lilac,  tulip,  violet  and  apple  blossoms;  blue  and  red  and 
yellow  birds  serenaded  me  as  I  passed,  all  making  me 
feel  somewhat  repaid  for  my  winter  hardships. 

The  main  street  of  Mechanicsville  was  beautifully 
shaded,  and  along  the  road-side  was  a  tempting  pasture 
for  ruminating  animals.  As  I  rode  along  and  admired 
the  scenes,  I  recalled  a  sentence  from  the  Scriptures: 
"Whatsoever  cheweth  the  cud  that  shall  ye  eat."  To  the 
right,  in  the  cool  shade,  reclined  a  gentle-eyed  cow, 
chewing  her  cud;  to  the  left,  at  the  base  of  a  magnificent 
tree,  sat  a  pretty  bloomer  girl  beside  her  bicycle,  also 
chewing.  I  was  puzzled. 

185 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

On  reaching  Mount  Vernon,  I  discovered,  after  dili- 
gent inquiries,  that  Washington  had  never  been  there, 
dead  or  alive.  Cornell  College,  for  boys  and  girls,  dis- 
tinguishes the  place  as  a  seat  of  learning,  and  the  stu- 
dents showed  an  abnormal  appetite  for  knowledge  by 
purchasing  my  books  and  photos.  A  few  miles  west  I 
crossed  a  ridge  of  wooded  hills,  descended  into  a  lovely 
vale,  crossed  Cedar  River,  and  drew  rein  at  Bertram,  a 
mountain  town  consisting  of  a  railroad  station,  side 
track,  tavern,  store,  and  two  to  three  houses. 

From  Bertram  we  mounted  another  and  still  higher 
ridge,  from  the  summit  of  which  I  could  see  the  great 
verdant  valley,  and,  winding  about  it,  a  spiral  cloud  of 
smoke  from  the  busy  city  of  Cedar  Rapids,  where  I  ar- 
rived at  six  o'clock. 

That  evening,  after  a  lapse  of  nine  years,  I  met  my  old 

friend,  Steve  D ,  who  once  had  tramped  Switzerland 

with  me.  After  I  had  explained  the  cause  of  my  unique 
pilgrimage  and  each  had  given  an  account  of  himself,  he 
planned  for  me  a  pleasant  two  days'  sojourn,  and  sug- 
gested it  was  time  I  had  a  useful  traveling  companion. 
As  I  moved  westward,  the  towns  would  be  farther  apart 
and  I  would  have  to  camp  often  on  the  highway.  The 
services  of  an  able  and  trusty  man  would  save  me  much 
time.  Steve  said  he  would  try  to  find  him. 

Cedar  Rapids  contains  some  of  the  largest  oatmeal 
factories  in  the  country.  I  met  through  my  friend  sev- 
eral pleasant  people,  dined  with  his  family,  and  was  ten- 
dered a  spread  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  to  which  a  few  of  his 
friends  were  invited.  Meanwhile  I  found  the  man  I  was 
looking  for. 

He  was  about  twenty,  had  been  night  porter  in  a  hotel, 
and  was  well  recommended.  Twice  I  refused  him  be- 
cause of  his  apparent  inexperience  in  "roughing  it,"  but 

186 


POD    HIRES   A   VALET. 

I  was  won  over  by  his  persistence  at  the  third  call.  He 
said  his  name  was  "Coonskin,"  and  Wisconsin  the  State 
of  his  nativity.  His  attainments  were  something  extraor- 
dinary. He  could  sling  a  Saratoga  trunk  into  a  first 
story  window;  had  painted  the  highest  church  steeples, 
and  broken  the  wildest  horses;  could  skin  all  kinds  of 
game,  and,  with  equal  facility,  could  "skin  the  cat;"  in 
fact,  he  had  made  an  enviable  record  in  athletics,  and  had 
won  several  championships  for  sprints.  He  could  swim 
like  a  frog,  and,  as  for  shooting,  his  comrades  couldn't 
touch  him  with  any  kind  of  a  gun.  He  was  never  ill,  and 
had  stood  all  kinds  of  exposures  from  hanging  all  night 
on  a  church  steeple  after  his  ladder  had  fallen,  to  riding 
on  the  trucks  of  a  baggage  car,  as  the  result  of  the  dis- 
banding of  a  theatre  troupe. 

This  Coonskin  was  a  wonderful  combination  of  re- 
sources; he  was  the  very  man  I  wanted.  He  wished  to 
go  with  me  for  fun  and  experience,  and  was  perfectly  sat- 
isfied if  I  would  defray  his  expenses.  I  took  Coonskin 
at  once  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Mac,  Cheese,  Don, 
and  the  mongrel,  and  to  be  assigned  to  his  duties. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  morning  of  our  departure,  he 
called  at  the  hotel  with  a  small  bundle  done  up  in  a  red 
handkerchief,  and  wearing  a  new  pair  of  shoes. 
"What  have  you  in  that  bundle?"  I  asked. 
"Everything." 
"Extra  suit  of  clothes?" 
"Yep — and  patches  for  emergency." 
"Extra  shoes  already  broken  to  your  feet?" 
"Yep — and  chloride-of-lime  and  extra  socks." 
"Brush  and  comb  and  tooth  brush?" 
"Yep — and  corn  plasters  and  curry-comb." 
"Extra  suit  of  underwear  and  handkerchiefs?" 
"Yep.     Pajandrums,  too." 

187 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

I  smiled  in  astonishment,  so  small  was  the  bundle. 
"Well  done,"  said  I,  "after  this  you  shall  do  all  my  pack- 
ing." 

I  was  gratified  to  note  Coonskin's  quick  perception, 
his  alertness  to  obey,  and  his  capacity  for  memorizing. 
He  did  not  have  to  be  told  a  thing  more  than  three  times 
before  understanding  it,  and  his  lively  interest  in  my  wel- 
fare manifested  itself  at  the  start.  When  I  went  to  the 
stable  at  eleven  o'clock,  I  found  he  had  added  to  my 
itinerant  kennel  a  bull  terrier,  which  took  to  Don  as 
fondly  as  Don  had  taken  to  the  mongrel.  I  remonstrated. 

"The  more  dogs  you  offer  the  Indian  Chief,  the  bigger 
time  he  will  give  you,"  said  my  valet.  "Better  keep  the 
terrier;  I'll  preserve  harmony." 

Glad  to  shift  some  of  my  responsibilities  to  the  broad 
shoulders  of  this  young  genius,  I  returned  to  the  hotel 
and  dressed  for  luncheon. 

You  may  imagine  how  my  heart  was  set  aflutter  when 
luncheon  over,  my  valet  rapped  on  the  door  and,  ventur- 
ing a  foot  in  the  room,  said,  with  the  courtliness  of  a 
Sancho  Panza,  "Your  highness'  donkeys  and  dogs  are 
at  the  door." 

My  guests  were  as  much  amused  as  I,  and  accom- 
panied me  to  the  street,  where  a  crowd  had  assembled. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  expression  on  my  old  friend's 
face  when  he  saw  the  dogs  yoked  together.  A  second 
pole  had  been  brought  into  use,  and,  Don  and  the  mon- 
grel having  become  reconciled,  the  bull  terrier  was  made 
a  sort  of  pivot  round  which  revolved  the  other  two,  a 
mean  dog  between  two  extremes. 

Coonskin  said  at  first  he  had  made  the  little  mongrel 
act  as  the  pivotal  dog,  but  he  had  no  sooner  left  the  ani- 
mals than  Don  and  Towser  swung  round  and  clinched 
in  pugilistic  style,  and,  had  it  not  been  for  the  efficacy  of 

188 


POD   HIRES   A-  VALET. 

the  stable  hose,  with  all  hands  at  the  pump,  the  mongrel 
would  have  soon  been  converted  into  sausage. 

It  was  nineteen  miles  to  the  village  of  Norway;  we  did 
not  arrive  there  till  eleven  at  night.  Once  or  twice  on 
the  way  Coonskin  was  prevailed  upon  to  relieve  me  in 
the  saddle  for  a  couple  of  miles;  but  although  his  new 
shoes  were  paining  him,  as  I  could  see  from  his  gait,  he 
was  too  "game"  to  admit  it,  and  whenever  I  asked  him 
to  ride,  protested  that  walking  wasn't  a  circumstance 
with  him.  He  would  rather  walk  than  eat. 

We  found  Norway  asleep.  After  assisting  Coonskin 
to  stable  the  donks  and  secure  the  dogs,  I  perused  a 
newspaper  while  my  young  neophyte  went  out  to  smoke. 
When  he  limped  in,  I  noticed  his  coat  pocket  bulged 
with  something  he  would  conceal.  I  did  not  question 
him.  But  before  retiring,  I  opened  his  door  to  give  him 
orders  for  the  morrow,  and  found  him  dressing  his  feet 
with  Indian  ointment,  which  he  admitted  he  had  pro- 
cured from  the  village  druggist.  He  had  with  difficulty 
aroused  the  man  from  slumber,  in  consequence  of  which 
he  was  made  to  pay  double  price  for  his  cure.  Coonskin 
was  somewhat  embarrassed,  but  I  praised  his  pluck  in 
glowing  terms,  and  put  him  at  ease.  Next  day  he  was 
ready  to  take  advice,  by  wearing  his  old  shoes  and  riding 
most  of  the  journey. 


189 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

What  made  Balaam  celebrated  as  an  astronomer  ? 
He  found  an  ass-to-roid. — Old  Conundrum. 

I  had  heard  about  the  chilly  climate  of  Norway,  and  was 
not  surprised  when  we  donks  met  with  a  cold  reception. 
We  had  plenty  of  hay  but  no  grain.  Next  morning  the 
landlord  said  that  he  expected  some  oats  soon  after  our 
departure. 

Pod  had  walked  the  last  three  miles,  and  warming  up, 
had  strapped  his  vest  to  the  saddle,  where  I  found  it  next 
morning.  Peaking  out  of  a  pocket  was  a  crisp  five  dol- 
lar greenback 

Now,  a  donkey  likes  anything  that's  green.  I  never 
had  eaten  a  vest.  But  I  determined  to  tackle  this  some- 
what tough  corduroy  "steak,"  and  made  a  fair  breakfast 
on  it,  not  to  speak  of  its  garnishes  of  green  money,  lead 
pencils,  and  a  scented  lace  handkerchief,  the  one  my 
master  had  long  carried  in  the  left  inside  pocket.  Save 
for  the  fact  that  I  got  a  few  sharp  bones  of  a  pocket- 
comb  in  my  teeth,  and  a  page  of  court-plaster  stuck  in 
my  throat,  I  relished  the  repast. 

But  not  so  the  Professor.  When  he  had  searched 
some  time  for  the  vest,  he  looked  at  me.  As  luck  would 
happen,  I  had  left  sufficient  circumstantial  evidence  on 
the  saddle  to  convict  most  any  donkey,  but  no  one  in 
particular.  However,  I  suppose  I  looked  guilty,  and 

190 


DONE   BY   A   HORSETRADER.       . 

my  past  record  was  against  me.  Pod  was  speechless  a 
moment,  then  he  made  up  for  lost  time,  and  said  that  he 
believed  a  jackass  would  devour  a  house  and  lot  if  he 
had  the  chance. 

"I  don't  know  about  a  house,"  I  replied,  "but  I  know  I 
could  eat  a  lot  if  it  were  set  before  me."  Then  I  caught 
it! 

By  nine  o'clock  the  clouds  having  dispersed,  we  start- 
ed for  Blairstown. 

The  Iowa  farms  were  pleasing  to  my  eye.  Horses  and 
cattle  were  cropping  the  juicy  grass,  hogs  were  shelling 
corn  or  taking  mud-baths,  fowls  of  all  kinds  were  en- 
gaged in  athletic  sports  trying  to  add  some  new  feather 
to  their  plumage,  and  occasional  bunches  of  sheep  were 
standing  in  barnyards  and  corrals  with  wool  pulled  over 
their  eyes,  not  knowing  what  to  do  with  themselves.  It 
looked  like  a  Garden  of  Eden,  where  donkeys  were  ex- 
cluded. 

Finally  we  met  a  farmer  with  a  team  of  lazy  horses. 
Pod  asked  him  if  a  donkey  was  a  known  quantity  in 
those  parts,  and  was  told  that  a  man  by  the  name  of 

K ,  living  near  the  next  town,  owned  two  that  he  had 

been  trying  to  give  away.  A  mile  beyond,  we  met  a  man 
in  a  one-horse  gig,  who  had  a  word  to  say,  too.  One 
donkey  knows  another  when  he  meets  him. 

"Your  name  is  K ?"  Pod  inquired. 

"That's  the  name  I  always  went  by,"  said  the  black- 
eyed,  black-hearted  man.  I  did  not  like  his  looks;  I 
felt  it  in  my  bones  that  Pod  was  going  to  be  "done"  by 
him.  When  a  man  or  donkey  is  over  anxious  to  acquire 
something,  he  is  pretty  sure  to  make  a  blunder.  On  be- 
ing catechised,  the  man  said  his  business  was  "hoss  trad- 
in'  some,  farmin'  some,  and  various  some." 

"Hear  you've  got  a  donkey  for  sale,"  Pod  observed. 

191 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

"Nope,"  said  K ,  "but  I've  got  two  of  'em.  Sell 

both  er  none." 

"I  was  told  you  have  tried  to  give  them  away,"  said 
Pod. 

The  "hoss  trader"  threw  one  leg  over  the  other,  spat 
tobacco  juice  in  Don's  eyes  so  he  couldn't  see  all  that 
might  a-cur,  raked  timothy  seed  out  of  his  whiskers,  and 
inquired,  "Who  was  tellin'  ye  that?" 

"The  fellow  didn't  give  his  name,"  answered  Pod,  "and 
I  wouldn't  undertake  to  describe  his  physical  geography, 
but  I  could  locate  him  if  I  wished  to." 

"If  I  could  lay  my  hands  on  him,  I'd  dislocate  him," 
said  K ,  snapping  his  eyes. 

When  my  master  told  about  his  travels,  the  lowan  be- 
came interested,  and  showed  signs  of  weakening  on  his 
ultimatum.  Meanwhile,  I  discovered  the  subjects  of  the 
discussion  grazing  in  a  meadow,  and  brayed  them  a 
courteous  "how  to  do,"  thus  calling  Pod's  attention  to 
them. 

The  hoss  trader  was  sharp  enough  to  see  it,  and  his 
animal  instinct  told  him  that  vanity  was  Pod's  weak 
point;  so  he  opened  up  with  a  little  blarney. 

"Now,  Mr.  Pod,  I'm  fair  t'  say  I've  sort  o'  takin'  a 
likin'  to  ye,  and  I  want  to  help  ye  along.  I'll  sell  both 
my  donkeys  for  ten  dollars,  er  one  for  five  and  trade  the 
other  for  one  of  your'n.  Jest  let  your  partner  here  run 
across  the  field  and  drive  'em  over.  I  want  ye  to  see 
'em." 

Coonskin  went,  and  K continued:  "They're  two 

as  fine-lookin'  jennies  as  ye'll  run  across  in  many  a  day, 
both  healthy  and  strong — not  too  young — not  too  old — 
often  plow  with  'em — kind  and  gentle — boy  rides  'em 
everywhere — fast,  too,  but  no  danger  runnin'  away. 

192 


DONE   BY   A   HORSETRADER. 

Why,  they're  twice  the  size  o'  your'n,  and  '11  carry  double 
the  load." 

"I'm  more  than  satisfied  with  my  donkeys"  (very 
flattering  to  Cheese  and  myself),  Pod  affirmed,  "and 
only  require  one  more.  If  I  am  suited  with  one  of  your 
donkeys,  I  am  willing  to  pay  five  dollars  for  it,  but  I 
will  not  trade  one  of  mine,  nor  will  I  purchase  both  of 
yours." 

By  this  time  the  animals  arrived.  They  were  certainly 
big  enough,  and  as  for  the  danger  of  their  running  away, 
they  didn't  act  as  if  they  could  run  ten  feet  if  charged 
with  a  thousand  volts  of  electricity.  The  farmer  said  he 
was  bound  to  make  a  satisfactory  deal  with  Pod  some- 
how, and  that  if  he  wasn't  convinced  by  the  time  we 
reached  his  house  that  both  animals  weren't  superior  to 
either  of  his  (an  absurdity  on  the  face  of  it),  then  he 
would  consider  some  other  proposition. 

When  we  reached  the  house,  Cheese  and  I  were  gen- 
erously fed,  and  Pod  and  Coonskin  invited  into  dinner. 

Then  K chased  his  donks  around  the  yard,  and 

felt  them  all  over,  and  finally  hoodwinked  my  master  to 
buy  one,  and  trade  the  other  for  Cheese.  I  could  have 
kicked  the  daylight  out  of  that  man. 

When  K was  on  his  way  to  town  with  his  five  dol- 
lars, Pod  came  to  the  stable.  My  new  companions  were 
crabbed  old  spinsters,  and  raised  some  objections  to  go- 
ing with  me. 

"Where  are  you  bound?"  one  asked. 

"San  Francisco,"  said  I,  "but  I  don't  know  where  that 
is  any  more  than  do  you.  Guess  it's  land's  end."  Then 
I  told  them  how  far  I  had  come,  and  that  Pod  said  only 
a  few  days  before  that  the  journey  had  only  begun;  also, 
that  he  expected  we  donks  would  fall  off  some  before 

193 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

long,  from  which  I  inferred  the  fall  would  be  gradual  and 
the  horrors  of  death  prolonged. 

It  was  enough  to  frighten  the  wits  out  of  any  old  maid, 
and  it  took  a  pitchfork,  two  hoe-handles  and  a  crowbar 
to  get  those  donkeys  out  of  the  gate.  Then  one  of  them 
balked,  kicked,  threw  Coonskin,  broke  her  halter,  and 
ran  back  into  the  yard.  She  could  run  after  all. 

That  was  enough  for  Pod.  He  rode  me  back  into  the 
yard,  and  told  Coonskin  to  fetch  Cheese  out  of  the  barn. 
And  it  didn't  take  him  long  to  shift  the  blanket  from  that 
gray  spinster  to  my  old  chum. 

"You  just  tell  your  dad  when  he  returns,"  said  Pod 

to  K 's  son,  "that  I  don't  intend  to  put  up  with  any 

such  game.  He  grossly  misrepresented  that  donkey;  it 
would  take  a  week  to  travel  a  mile  with  her.  As  I  have 
paid  him  for  the  other  one,  she  belongs  to  me  and  I  shall 
push  her  along  with  the  outfit.  But  this  animal,"  and  he 
pointed  to  Cheese,  "is  mine  yet  awhile.  Good-bye." 

"Do  as  you  like,"  K ,  Jr.,  replied.  "I  know  nothin' 

'bout  yer  agreement." 

We  covered  the  first  mile  in  slow  time.  Coonskin's 
new  steed  was  forever  stopping,  and  straying  out  of  the 
road  to  eat  grass.  The  young  man  wore  himself  out 
keeping  her  moving  by  rapping  her  with  the  flat  side  of 
a  hatchet.  This  big,  brown  jenny  was  made  of  the  right 
stuff,  but  evidently  lacked  training  and  experience. 

We  were  yet  a  half  mile  to  Blairstown  when  a  young 
woman  and  a  child  drove  toward  us  with  a  skittish  horse. 
It  acted  as  though  it  had  never  seen  a  donkey.  It 
pricked  up  its  ears,  and  snorted,  and,  so  help  me  Balaam! 
in  a  jiffy  that  buggy  was  on  its  side,  the  girls  on  the 
ground,  and  the  horse  running  to  beat  a  cyclone.  Luck- 
ily, the  girls  escaped  injury.  My  master  was  as  fright- 
ened as  he  was  chivalrous,  and  assisting  the  girls  to  their 

194 


DONE   BY   A   HORSETRADER. 

feet,  invited  them  to  ride  us  donkeys  to  town;  which 
kind  offer  was  respectfully  declined. 

On  our  arrival,  Pod  took  us  to  a  blacksmith's  to  have 
the  new  donkey's  fore  feet  measured  for  a  pair  of  shoes. 
The  smith  seemed  to  be  much  taken  with  me,  and  said 
I  had  the  smallest  feet  of  all  the  gentlemen  donks  he  ever 
met.  The  remark  so  tickled  my  vanity  that  I  nibbled  at 
his  coat  tail,  whereupon  he  turned  to  me  and  inquired, 
"What  kind  of  a  donkey  are  you?  Chinese?" 

"Not  much/'  said  I,  indignantly,  "My  name  is  Irishy, 
and  I  always  supposed  I  was  a  thoroughbred  Irish  ass, 
but  I'm  beginning  to  believe  I'm  a  roamin'  donkey,  af- 
ter all." 

I  could  see  that  Pod  expected  trouble  from  some  quar- 
ter, but  none  of  us  knew  just  where  the  lightning  would 
strike.  The  next  village,  Luzerne,  lay  fifteen  miles  to 
the  west.  My  lady  companion  did  not  carry  herself  too 
gracefully,  nor  her  rider,  either.  She  was  broad  and  flat 
across  the  hips,  and,  as  Coonskin  did  not  possess  a  sad- 
dle, he  found  it  more  comfortable  to  sit  far  back  on  her 
where  he  could  get  a  good  swing  of  the  fence  rail  he  sub- 
stituted for  a  whip. 

We  were  ambling  peacefully  along  the  dusty  road  late 
in  the  afternoon,  when  Pod  broke  the  silence  with  a  word 
to  his  valet. 

"Well,  Coonskin,"  said  he,  "what  're  you  going  to  call 
your  donkey?" 

"Damfino,"  said  Coonskin;  and  he  added,  with  a 
drawl,  "Git  ap." 

"You  ought  to  have  found  a  suitable  name  by  this 
time." 

"I  have  named  her,"  emphasized  the  young  man. 

"Good!"  shouted  the  Professor.    "Let's  have  it  then." 

195 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

"Damfino,"  yelled  Coonskin,  with  a  wild  swing  of  the 
fence  rail. 

Pod's  face  turned  on  its  axis  with  a  puzzled  expres- 
sion, as  his  eyes  regarded  the  hopeful  pioneer.  Said  he, 
"See  here,  young  man,  I  know  not  whether  my  ears  de- 
ceive me,  or  you  are  not  up  on  my  dialect;  you  say  you 
have  named  the  donkey,  yet,  when  I  ask  the  name,  your 
answer  implies  a  contradiction.  Again,  what  is  her 
name?" 

Coonskin  drew  a  long  breath,  and  said  loud  enough 
to  be  heard  a  mile  away,  "Damfino." 

As  the  fellow  uttered  the  word,  I  dropped  to  the  joke 
and,  stopping  in  the  road,  brayed  till  my  sides  ached. 

A  new  light  now  came  into  the  Professor's  eyes,  and 
he  smiled.  "Damfino,  then,  is  the  lady's  angelic  name," 
said  he  resignedly.  "It's  odd,  it's  not  inappropriate.  Let 
it  stand." 

"Very  well,"  returned  Coonskin,  "I  will  proceed  with 
the  ceremony."  And  letting  the  fence  rail  fall  on  his 
steed's  rear  quarter,  he  added,  "In  the  name  of  the  great 
and  only  Balaam,  I  christen  thee  Damfino."  ,  It  was  an 
interesting  event.  Thenceforth  Cheese  and  I  resolved 
to  be  more  choice  in  our  language  and  decorous  in  our 
manners  in  Miss  Damfino's  presence;  and  we  lived  up 
to  our  pledge  two  hours  before  Cheese  called  Don  and 
the  bull-terrier  bad  names  for  accidentally  upsetting  Miss 
Damfino  with  their  yoke,  and  I  kicked  the  tired  and 
panting  mongrel  in  the  neighborhood  of  its  pants. 


196 

• 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

BY   PYE  POD. 

Thou  hast  described 
A  hot  friend  cooling. 

— Julius  Casar. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening.  While  we  were 
chatting  with  the  landlord  of  the  only  tavern  in  Luzerne, 
a  portly,  smooth-looking  individual  entered  the  room. 
He  was  clad  in  a  great  fur  ulster  and  top  boots.  After 
a  familiar  "hello"  to  the  landlord,  he  eyed  me  searchingly, 
and  added,  "Your  name  is  Pod,  ain't  it  ?" 

I  said,  "I  believe  so ;  yours  is  what,  don't  it  ?" 

Evidently  not  pleased  with  my  expression,  he  instantly 
struck  an  attitude,  or  something  equally  hard,  and  an- 
nounced, "I'm  the  sheriff  of  Borden  County,  and  have 
come  for  a  jack  belonging  to  Mr.  K ." 

"Jack?"  I  interrogated;  "boot-jack,  apple-jack — " 

"Just  plain  jack,"  interrupted  the  officer. 

"Well,"  I  replied,  carelessly,  "I  have  no  jack  belong- 
ing to  Mr.  K ,  but  I  have  the  jenny  he  sold  me  for 

five  dollars.  Mr.  K imposed  upon  me,  and  if  he 

will  refund  the  money,  I  will  be  only  too  glad  to  return 
his  hundred-year  old  mule." 

Here  K himself  entered.  He  stormed  about,  and 

said  that  I  told  only  a  section  of  the  truth. 

The  sheriff  gave  his  client  a  look,  which  quelled  his 
ire  for  a  moment,  then,  turning  to  me,  said:  "You  talk 
reasonably  enough,  Mr.  Pod,  and  doubtless  mean  right, 

i97 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

but  Mr.  K has  sworn  out  a  warrant  for  your  arrest ; 

and  if  you  don't  want  trouble  and  a  double-jointed  ad- 
vertisement just  turn  over  to  K- the  jack  he  claims, 

and  send  your  man  back  for  the  gray  jenny." 

It  may  not  seem  strange  that  I  was  converted  to  the 
officer's  way  of  thinking. 

"Take  the  donkey  you  claim,"  I  said  to  K ,  "you 

have  the  advantage  of  me.  I  haven't  time  to  fight  my 
case  in  the  courts." 

My  black-bearded  adversary  now  calmed  his  temper; 
his  victory  must  have  tasted  sweet.  I  calculated  the  cost 
of  the  warrant  and  the  sheriff's  services  to  be  at  least  ten 
dollars,  since  the  officer  had  sacrificed  angling  for  posse 
duty;  although  he  was  prevented  from  catching  fish, 
there  was  a  nice  mess  for  me. 

With  reluctant  equanimity  the  man  who  had  wished 
to  help  me  along  explained  that  he  had  boasted  of  hav- 
ing acquired  one  of  Pye  Pod's  noted  donkeys,  but  when 
he  found  I  had  outwitted  him,  he  swore  vengeance. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  officer  had  conducted  himself 
as  a  gentleman. 

"Here,  Coonskin,"  said  the  officer,  "take  this  dollar 
and  fetch  us  a  pail  of  beer;"  and,  turning  to  me,  added, 
"we  must  drown  ill  feeling  amongst  us,  for  when  you 
come  this  way  again,  we'll  show  you  how  to  catch  fish." 

By  one  o'clock  next  day  Coonskin,  weary,  hungry, 
and  morose,  had  managed  to  steer  his  slow  "craft"  into 
Luzerne  and  to  moor  it  in  front  of  the  tavern  barn.  That 
closed  the  interesting  event. 

On  our  way  to  Tama  City  I  was  greeted  by  a  member 
of  assembly,  who  tendered  me  an  invitation  from  the 
Mayor  to  dine  with  them  that  day.  Lounging  about  the 
shop  doors  and  strolling  the  streets,  on  our  arrival  in 
Tama,  were  many  stately,  still  proud  redskins,  who,  when 

198 


POD   UNDER   ARREST. 

they  espied  me  with  the  wealth  of  canines  collected  on 
my  way,  shied  off  the  scent  for  "fire-water"  and  dogged 
my  trail  to  the  hotel. 

After  dinner  with  the  Mayor  and  Assemblyman,  I 
escorted  them  to  the  stable  to  discover  Mac  A'Rony 
devouring  a  new  hair-cushioned  carriage  seat.  At  once 
the  Mayor  wanted  to  buy  that  donkey  outright,  head  and 
seat,  for  a  round  sum. 

On  expressing  my  intention  to  visit  the  Indian  Reser- 
vation, some  three  miles  away,  his  Honor  gave  me  let- 
ters of  introduction  to  the  Indian  Teacher  and  the  Indian 
Instructor  in  agriculture.  There  lived  the  Sac  and  Fox 
tribe  of  the  Musquaques.  I  was  told  that  they  were  one 
of  the  most  primitive  tribes  in  the  States,  holding  on  to 
the  primeval,  and  often  evil,  customs  of  feeding  on  dog 
soup,  indulging  in  various  kinds  of  dances,  living  in  tee- 
pees, or  wickey-ups,  and  wearing  bears'  teeth,  eagles' 
claws,  scalps,  skins  and  moccasins.  As  you  know,  I  had 
long  hoped  to  be  welcomed  as  their  guest.  I  was  tired 
and  weary  of  the  care  of  my  dog  pack,  and  wished  to 
present  it  bodly,  save  Don,  to  the  Chief. 

About  two  o'clock  we  saddled  and  packed.  When 
ready  to  start,  a  diminutive  bicyclist,  mud-bespattered 
and  perspiring  from  a  hot  century  run,  he  affirmed, 
wheeled  up  to  the  stable  and,  almost  before  catching  his 
breath,  introduced  himself  to  me. 

"My  name  is  Barley  Korker,"  said  he,  "de  champion 
lightest-weight  wheelman  in  de  United  States,  weighin' 
jest  sixty-eight  pounds.  I'm  jest  troo  wid  a  trip  from 
New  York  in  one  month  and  tirty-two  days.  My  bicycle 
was  giv  me  by  de  Cormorant  Club  of  Phil'delfia.  De 
Bourbon  Club  of  Chowchow  Wheelman  of  Pittsburg 
put  up  five  hundred  dollars  'gainst  de  wall  dat  I  couldn't 
go  all  de  way  to  San  Francisco  and  git  dere.  On  de  way 

199 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

I  hears  of  de  great  donkey  traveler,  Professor  Pod,  so 
I  says,  I'll  jest  catch  up  wid  him,  and  mebbe  he'll  take 
me  'long  wid  him." 

I  at  once  made  the  little  fellow  a  proposition,  which 
he  accepted;  if  he  would  wheel  ahead  of  my  caravan 
every  day,  carrying  a  small  flagstaff  with  a  streamer  con- 
taining the  words,  "Official  Courier  to  Pye  Pod,"  I 
would,  as  long  as  he  gave  satisfaction,  defray  his  travel- 
ing expenses.  Barley  was  delighted.  He  forthwith  pur- 
chased a  piece  of  plum-colored  silk  and  a  bit  of  white  silk 
for  letters,  needles  and  thread,  and,  having  once  been  a 
tailor  by  trade,  when  we  went  into  camp  that  night  said 
that  he  would  make  a  beautiful  streamer,  one  I  would  be 
proud  of.  He  promised  to  have  it  completed  in  a  couple 
of  days. 

I  had  not  more  than  finished  my  business  with  my 
courier,  when  a  rustic-looking  boy  rode  up  on  a  white 
donkey,  and  called  to  me,  "Want  ter  trade?" 

"Not  anxious,"  I  returned,  but  showed  no  signs  of  a 
desire  to  flee. 

"Trade  with  yer,  if  you  give  me  five  dollars  to  boot," 
said  the  enterprising  lad. 

"I  recalled  how  I  had  been  swindled  recently  in  a  trade, 
and  resolved  to  make  a  deal  with  that  boy  by  hook  or 
by  crook. 

"Do  you  suppose  I  would  think  of  trading  this  thor- 
oughbred Irish  ass  that  has  gone  around  the  world  for 
your  common  beast,  just  because  mine  is  tired  from  fast 
and  long  traveling,  and  yours  is  fresh?"  I  saw  I  had 
made  an  impression;  the  lad  dismounted,  and  examined 
Cheese  IV,  critically. 

"  I  hain't  no  money  to-day,"  said  the  boy,  "but  if  you'll 
give  me  two  dollars  to  boot  I'll  trade." 

"What!  do  you  want  the  earth?"  I  exclaimed.     "Only 


200 


5   5^ 


POD   UNDER   ARREST. 

before  dinner  I  paid  two  dollars  to  have  this  donkey 
shod.  I  don't  intend  to  pay  two  dollars  more  to  shoe 
your  animal." 

The  lad  replied  "All  right,"  and  galloped  away,  but 
had  only  gone  a  short  distance  when  I  hailed  him.  He 
came  back  without  hesitation,  and  I  then  concluded  a 
bargain.  It  was  agreed  that  a  blacksmith  should  take 
the  new  shoes  off  Cheese  and  put  them  on  his  donkey, 
and  that  I  should  pay  him  three  dollars  to  boot.  An 
hour  later  Cheese  V  was  shod,  bridled  and  saddled,  and 
that  afternoon  became  Coonskin's  mount,  Damfino  car- 
rying the  principal  portion  of  our  luggage,  and  Mac 
A'Rony  his  master. 

My  party  reached  the  Reservation  in  time  for  me  to 
meet  the  Indian  teacher  before  he  left  school,  my  courier 
having  wheeled  ahead  to  announce  my  coming. 

I  was  greeted  warmly  when  I  presented  the  Mayor's 
letter,  was  shown  some  of  the  lodges  of  the  tribe,  and 
made  acquainted  with  a  few  of  the  foremost  braves  of 
the  camp.  The  teacher  was  an  admirable  interpreter, 
and  the  Indians  grunted  approvingly  at  meeting  such  a 
noted  personage  as  Professor  Pye  Pod. 

A  fat  old  buck  named  Ne-tah-twy-tuck  (old  one),  on 
being  presented,  extended  me  his  hand,  muttering,  "How 
do?"  His  grip  almost  mashed  my  ringers. 

"Much  dog,"  he  observed,  eyeing  my  pack  with  doubt- 
ful admiration. 

"Yes,  too  much,"  I  replied;  I  want  to  visit  Me-tah-ah- 
qua,  your  great  chief,  and  give  him  a  heap  of  dogs." 
The  Indian  grinned  majestically,  while  his  teacher  turned 
his  head  to  control  his  risibles. 

"Make  pleasant?"  the  redskin  grunted,  and  shook  his 
head  disapprovingly.  Me-tah-ah-qua  say  no  dog  good 
— old — make  tough  soup."  And  the  brave  pinched  one 

201 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

of  the  mongrels,  causing  such  a  ky-eying  that  my  inter- 
preter feared  it  would  put  the  whole  camp  on  the  war- 
path. 

Presently  an  Indian  boy  notified  the  teacher  that  the 
chief  had  heard  of  Mr.  Pod's  arrival,  and  wished  him  to 
dine  with  him  at  his  lodge.  I  accepted,  and  the  boy  de- 
parted; and  soon  afterward  Coonskin  and  I  were  escort- 
ed to  the  chief's  wigwam,  taking  my  dog  pack  with  me. 

Me-tah-ah-qua  met  us  with  a  grunt,  rubbed  my  nose 
against  his  until  it  became  lopsided,  and  likewise  greeted 
Coonskin. 

Then  the  chief  waved  us  into  the  wigwam.  He  seated 
me  on  his  right,  and  Coonskin  on  his  left,  while  opposite 
to  me  he  placed  his  disenchanting  daughter  of  forty-five 
summers.  Opposite  the  chief  sat  his  first  councilman, 
Muck-qua-push-e-too  (young  one),  and  at  my  right,  at 
the  entrance  of  the  tent  in  full  view  of  the  host  was  seated 
our  Government  interpreter,  seemingly  much  amused  by 
the  event.  I  lost  no  time  in  presenting  my  dogs  to  the 
chief,  who  in  broken  sentences,  half  Indian,  half  English, 
accepted  the  munificent  gift  in  befitting  words. 

The  spread  consisted  of  a  wolf  skin,  and  on  it  rested  a 
large  flat  stone  on  which  to  stand  the  kettle  of  soup  when 
ready. 

For  some  moments  the  chief  regarded  me  searchingly, 
then  said,  "Me-tah-ah-qua  wants — big  donk  man  to  live 
with  him — and  marry — his  only  daughter — Ne-nah-too- 
too.  Me-tah-ah-qua  will  give — him  a  bow  and  a  quiver 
of  arrows — three  seasoned  pipes — five  ponies — a  new 
wicky-up — two  red  blankets — a  deer  skin — bag  full  of 
dogs'  teeth — fifteen  scalps  taken  by  his  father." 

The  chief  left  off  abruptly,  as  if  for  my  answer,  but  I 
shook  my  head  thoughtfully,  and  the  chief  continued: 

"If  you — will  marry  my  daughter  (here  the  chief 

202 


POD   UNDER   ARREST. 

glanced  at  me,  then  let  his  eyes  dwell  fondly  on  that  aged 
belle  of  forty-five  summers),  Me-tah-ah-qua  will  make — 
you  chief  of  his  tribe — before  he  goes  to — the  Happy 
Hunting  Grounds.  He  will  call — your  first  born  Chicky- 
pow-wow-wake-up." 

I  was  never  more  embarrassed,  and  eyed  the  damsel  of 
forty-five  summers,  trying  to  persuade  myself  that  she 
was  beautiful  and  rich,  and  still  shook  my  head.  The 
old  chief,  seeing  his  inducements  were  not  alluring,  mo- 
tioned to  his  councilman  to  pass  the  pipe  of  peace.  After 
we  had  all  taken  a  puff  at  it,  the  kettle  of  dog  soup  was 
set  before  us,  and  we  all  dipped  in  our  ladles,  the  chief 
first,  and  began  to  eat. 

When  I  first  looked  into  that  caldron  of  bouillon,  I 
could  see  in  my  mind's  eye,  all  kinds  and  conditions  of 
dog  staring  at  me,  and  almost  fancied  I  could  hear  them 
barking.  The  soup  wasn't  bad,  after  all;  it  reminded 
me  of  Limburger  cheese,  in  that  it  tasted  better  than  it 
smelled.  But  Coonskin  and  I,  and  even  our  interpreter, 
ate  sparingly  (I  use  the  word  "ate,"  because  there  was  so 
much  meat  in  it).  I  learned  from  the  teacher  that  the 
whole  kettleful  of  soup  was  extracted  from  one  small 
spaniel.  "Dog  gone!"  I  sighed. 

The  feast  at  an  end,  I  thanked  the  chief  for  the  honor 
conferred  upon  me,  shook  hands  with  his  daughter,  and 
departed.  Barley  Korker,  Mac  A'Rony  and  the  rest  of 
the  party  welcomed  me  with  glee,  and  soon  we  were 
marching  over  the  hill  toward  the  house  of  the  Indian 
farmer. 

In  front  of  a  wigwam  sat  the  chief's  squaw,  an  old, 
wrinkled  and  parched  woman  of  a  hundred  and  five  win- 
ters, weaving  a  flat  mat ;  a  little  way  off  two  Indian  boys 
were  filling  pails  with  sand,  making  believe  they  were  at 
Coney  Island;  and  still  beyond  I  saw  two  squaws  carry- 

203 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

ing  huge  bundles  of  faggots  for  the  wigwam  fires,  round 
which  sat  the  lazy  bucks,  smoking. 

A  half-mile  further  on  we  met  the  Indian  Farmer,  and 
I  presented  my  letter  of  introduction.  He  extended  me 
a  glad  hand,  and  invited  us  all  to  supper,  and  on  the  way 
to  his  house,  enlightened  me  about  Indian  farming,  and 
the  results  of  our  Government's  efforts  to  civilize  the 
savage  tribes.  The  Reservation  contains  2,800  acres  of 
woodland  and  arable  soil. 

After  supper  on  bread  and  milk  with  the  farmer,  we 
travelers  made  our  beds  of  hay  and  horse-blankets  in  the 
barn,  and  then  followed  the  trail  half  way  back  to  the 
Indian  village,  until  we  came  to  a  house,  where  I  dis- 
covered in  the  darkness  its  rustic  incumbent  leaning  on 
the  fence,  smoking.  There  we  lay  down  on  the  dry  sod, 
lit  our  pipes,  and  listened  for  the  first  sound  of  the  Indian 
drum  beats  which,  the  farmer  told  us,  we  would  soon 
hear;  that  was  the  night  for  an  Assembly  dance,  and  the 
first  drum  beat  was  to  assemble  the  tribe  to  its  nocturnal 
orgie. 

As  I  reclined  on  the  grass  in  the  starlight  that  mild 
May  evening,  my  mind  recalling  the  harrowing  tales  of 
the  early  settlers  of  the  West,  the  first  sound  of  the  drum 
beat  sent  a  thrill  through  my  frame.  I  mentally  counted 
the  weapons  comprising  the  arsenal  in  our  belts;  and 
even  Don  crept  closer  to  me  and  rubbed  his  face  against 
mine.  After  a  few  moments'  interim  the  drum  again 
beat,  but  for  a  longer  period,  sounding  something  like 
the  army  long-roll,  only  more  weird.  The  farmer  said 
this  was  the  signal  for  the  dance  to  begin,  so  we  strolled 
leisurely  down  the  hill  trail  through  the  woods  to  the 
grotesque  scene. 

A  circular  corral,  fenced  with  three  or  four  strands  of 
wire,  surrounded  a  pole  driven  slantingly  in  the  ground, 

204 


POD   UNDER   ARREST.- 

and  from  the  pole  was  suspended  a  very  bright  lantern. 
Already  within  the  enclosure  could  be  seen  the  dusky 
forms  of  the  Musquaques,  some  of  them  grouped  in  a 
sitting  posture,  crosslegged,  in  the  center  of  the  corral, 
beating  a  large  shallow  drum  resting  on  the  ground; 
while  maneuvring  fantastically  about  them  were  four 
agile  reds,  clad  in  loose-fitting,  bright-colored  robes, 
feathers,  moccasins  and  sleighbells,  dancing,  and  pow- 
wowing frightfully. 

Finally  we  drew  closer  to  the  scene,  and  then  an  edu- 
cated Indian,  named  Sam  Lincoln,  welcomed  us  into  the 
enclosure.  He  said  he  was  a  graduate  of  the  Carlisle 
Indian  School  of  Pennsylvania,  and  greeted  us  in  the 
true  American  style,  but  he  still  loved  the  primitive  cus- 
toms of  his  people.  We  sat  on  the  ground  against  the 
fence,  and  occasionally  one  or  another  of  the  dancers 
would  put  a  pinch  of  tobacco  into  the  hand  of  Sam, 
seated  next  to  me. 

"What  was  that  he  just  gave  you?"  I  asked  of  the 
Indian. 

"He  give  pleasant  of  tobacco,"  said  Sam.  "Show 
good  feeling — Indian  not  steal — leave  things  around — 
Indian  no  take — Indian  honest."  By  that  sign  of  distrib- 
uting tobacco  among  his  fellows,  the  tamed  savage 
promises  fair  play  among  his  tribe. 

The  men  alone  danced.  Before  long,  the  squaws,  one 
by  one,  came  into  the  ring  from  various  quarters  with 
pappooses  bound  on  their  backs  in  shawls  or  robes,  and 
squatted  in  a  circle  just  behind  the  drummers.  As  the 
dancers  became  fatigued,  I  noticed  that  they  would  ex- 
change places  with  the  spectators,  most  of  whom  were 
in  dancing  rig.  Sam  Lincoln,  after  a  time,  excused  him- 
self politely  and  asked  me  to  sit  on  his  coat,  reminding 

205 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

me  should  I  leave  before  his  return  not  to  forget  to  leave 
the  strap  he  loaned  me  to  tie  my  dog  to  a  post. 

The  weird  proceedings  were  all  too  exciting  for  Don, 
and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  prevent  his  making  mince- 
meat out  of  the  dancers  and  prowling  squaws.  The 
whoops  and  pow-wowing  and  yells  were  thrilling  enough 
to  frighten  even  a  man  "tenderfoot." 

Toward  midnight  speech-making  began.  The  drum- 
mers stopped  beating  the  drum,  and  an  old  patriarch 
walked  from  the  fence  toward  the  center  group,  and 
stood  behind  the  squaws  a  moment  in  silence.  Presently 
he  softly  uttered  something  that  sounded  like  a  prayer, 
to  which  all  the  dusky  auditors  responded  feelingly  at 
the  close  in  a  monosyllable  not  unlike  "Amen."  Then 
the  drum-beating  and  dancing  was  resumed,  continuing 
some  moments,  to  be  followed  by  another  prayer. 

At  last,  a  great  pipe  was  put  through  a  series  of  mys- 
terious calisthenics,  and  passed  around  among  the  drum- 
mers. 

At  midnight  the  full,  round  moon  rose  above  the 
wooded  hills,  and  cast  a  broad,  silvery  sash  across  the 
ring,  illuminating  the  weird  and  grotesque  scene.  Now 
a  squaw  entered  with  a  large  earthen  jar  and  passed  it 
around  to  all  the  Indians,  the  bucks  first.  I  was  igno- 
rant of  its  contents,  as  it  was  not  passed  to  me  and  my 
white  comrades.  Fatigued  from  travel,  I  finally  rested 
my  head  on  Don's  warm  body,  and  went  to  sleep;  and  it 
must  have  been  near  one  o'clock  when  Coonskin  awoke 
me.  Then  we  three,  accompanied  by  my  dog,  started 
for  the  barn  to  lay  ourselves  out  for  a  few  hours'  repose. 
I  shall  never  forget  that  night. 

Sam  Lincoln  said  that  several  members  of  the  tribe,  a 
few  weeks  previous,  had  gone  to  visit  another  branch  of 
the  tribe  in  Wisconsin,  in  the  absence  of  which  a  "meet- 

206 


POD   UNDER   ARREST. 

ing  dance"  was  held  every  fourth  night,  when  the  Indians 
appealed  to  the  Great  Father  for  their  safe  return.  Sam 
told  me  that  in  all  their  various  dances  a  different  drum 
was  beaten — there  was  one  each  respectively  for  the 
snake  dance,  ghost  dance,  wolf  dance,  buffalo  dance, 
peace  dance,  war  dance,  meeting  dance,  etc.  The  drum 
for  the  meeting  dance,  Sam  pronounced  beautiful,  and 
"much  nice" — "seven  dollars  fifty  cents  worth  of  quar- 
ters on  it — all  silver  on  drum — fine  drum — much  cost." 
The  Indians  valued  their  drums,  evidently,  more  than 
any  other  of  their  possessions. 

We  rested  well  that  night  in  our  haymow  bed,  al- 
though the  rats  kept  the  dog  busy  till  morning,  so  Barley 
said;  he  was  the  only  one  of  us  three  who  failed  to  sleep 
soundly.  We  rose  in  good  season,  and  traveled  five 
miles  to  Mountour,  Barley  Korker  wheeling  on  in  ad- 
vance to  order  breakfast.  He  proved  himself  a  good 
financier  on  this,  his  first,  mission  as  Pod's  official  cou- 
rier, and  pleasantly  surprised  me  by  having  bargained 
for  three  twenty-five  cent  breakfasts  for  fifty  cents. 

Before  reaching  Marshalltown,  we  met  with  a  terrific 
thunderstorm,  and  rode  up  to  the  hotel  at  six  o'clock  in 
a  drenched  condition. 


207 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

What  the  devil  was  the  good  of  a  she-ass,  if  she  couldn't  carry 
a  sleeping  bag  and  a  few  necessities  ? — Steven  son. 

Our  sojourn  in  Marshalltown  was  brief.  Before  leav- 
ing, my  master  purchased  cooking  utensils,  so  that  he 
would  not  be  compelled  to  travel  more  than  he  ought  to 
in  a  day  to  reach  a  town;  now  he  could  cook  his  own 
meals.  After  going  into  camp  the  first  night,  Pod 
fetched  out  the  cooking  tools,  and  having  saved  up  a 
huge  appetite,  went  to  work  to  get  a  fine  supper. 

"Hello!  Coonskin,"  said  he,  "what  do  you  think? 
We've  plenty  of  frying  pans,  but  nothing  to  fry — never 
once  thought  of  buying  grub."  And  three  more  disap- 
pointed, famished  individuals  I  never  saw.  But  when  to 
get  even  they  ate  double  their  usual  breakfast  next  morn- 
ing and  were  charged  accordingly,  Pod  was  enraged. 

We  trailed  through  State  Center,  Nevada,  and  Ames 
to  Boone,  arriving  at  midnight,  May  22d;  and  continued 
on  next  day  to  Grand  Junction,  where  a  farmer  invited 
the  men  to  sleep  in  his  kitchen.  Instead  of  accepting, 
they  shared  with  us  donks  the  comforts  of  the  barn, 
where,  after  a  supper,  cooked  at  a  safe  distance  from  the 
hay-stack,  Pod  received  a  delegation  of  gay  young  chaps 
from  town.  They  brought  all  kinds  of  prohibition 
drinks  and  eatables;  the  popping  of  corks  kept  me  awake 
until  a  late  hour.  And  when  I  complained,  all  I  got  was 
an  invoice  of  corn  on  the  ear. 

208 


ADVENTURE   IN   A   SLEEPING-BAG. 

The  Mayor  of  Jefferson,  during  our  stop,  presented 
Pod  with  a  heavy  shillalah  that  was  intended  as  an  orna- 
ment, but  several  times  later,  persuaded  to  do  business. 
The  Irishman,  also,  as  a  compliment  to  my  ancestry,  in- 
vited us  all  to  dinner.  After  passing  through  Scranton 
and  Glidden,  two  or  three  interesting  incidents  occurred 
on  the  road  to  Carroll.  One  night  we  were  caught  in  a 
shower  that  seemed  to  settle  down  to  business  for  the 
night.  Coonskin  thought  he  saw  a  barn  in  a  meadow, 
so  Pod  sent  him  to  investigate.  He  came  back  soon 
and  said  it  was  only  a  double  corn-crib,  built  so  a  wagon 
could  drive  between,  under  a  roof.  All  three  thought  it 
was  just  the  thing;  it  was  better  than  tramping  through 
rain  and  mud.  So  we  broke  through  the  fence,  and  soon 
were  unpacked  and  fed  all  the  corn  we  could  eat.  The 
men  made  their  bed  in  one  of  the  big  cribs  of  corn,  the 
best  they  could  with  their  scant  blankets,  and  went  to 
sleep.  Pod  told  me  that  wasn't  the  first  night  he  had 
spent  in  a  crib.  And  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  that  were 
so.  I  said  I  preferred  corn  on  the  ear  to  corn  on  the  feet. 

It  was  a  funny  sight  before  the  men  arose.  There 
happened  to  be  several  holes  in  the  inner  wall,  and  the 
men  had  twisted  and  turned  about  so  much  during  the 
night  in  their  dreams  and  to  get  the  ears  comfortably 
filled  into  their  backs,  that  it  resulted  in  Pod's  head  stick- 
ing out  of  one  hole,  Coonskin's  foot  out  of  another,  and 
Barley's  seat  plugging  another.  When  Pod  awoke,  his 
head  was  red  as  a  beet;  he  found  his  feet  higher  than  his 
head,  Damfino  having  pulled  the  corn  out  of  the  hole 
during  the  night.  So  much  did  we  donks  eat  that,  before 
starting  on  the  day's  journey,  our  stomachs  ached  and 
doubled  us  all  up. 

Then  a  ridiculous  sort  of  runaway  happened.  A  fat 
Irishwoman  tried  to  drive  a  gentle  horse  past  our  party. 

209 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

The  pet  stuck  up  his  ears  and  stopped  a  hundred  feet 
away;  Pod  called  to  the  courageous  driver  to  wait,  and 
that  he  would  send  his  man  to  lead  the  horse  past  us. 
But  the  woman  yelled  back  that  she  could  manage  her 
own  horse;  so  she  whipped  him  on.  To  the  left  was  a 
marsh  deep  from  the  heavy  rains;  and  the  frightened 
horse  made  a  dash  through  it,  but  he  hadn't  run  far 
before  he  stuck  knee-deep,  right  beside  us.  The  horse 
snorted  and  plunged,  and  tried  to  get  away,  but  it  was 
no  "go."  He  burst  the  traces,  and  the  frantic  driver 
hollered  so  that  I  almost  "busted"  too. 

"Don't  move  your  feet  an  inch,  or  you'll  go  over,"  Pod 
cautioned  the  woman,  but  she  took  it  as  a  personal 
offense,  and  said  her  feet  were  all  right. 

"Help  me  and  Oi'll  pay  yez !"  she  implored. 

So  Coonskin  waded  in  and,  tying  the  reins  around  the 
broken  traces,  led  the  horse  on  to  dry  land  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance. Then  he  held  out  a  hand  for  his  pay. 

"Phwat  do  yez  want,  ye  poppinjay?"  said  the  ingrate. 

"You  promised  to  pay  me  if  I  would  help  you,"  replied 
the  valet,  soberly. 

"Ah,  gwan,  yez  crazy  loot!"  she  exclaimed.  "Dish- 
pose  of  thim  hathenish  jackasses,  ond  yez  will  have 
money  ond  th'  rishpect  of  the  community." 

Coonskin  was  watersoaked  up  to  his  waist.  But  be- 
fore he  could  get  to  a  hotel  to  change  his  clothes,  our 
little  courier  met  us  coming  into  town,  and  inquired, 
"Hev  yuse  been  havin'  a  fallin'  out  wid  de  crazy  mule?" 

"Not  by  a  blank  sight,"  retorted  the  valet,  in  ill  humor. 
He  felt  like  scaring  Barley,  and  he  did.  "Two  women 
met  us  down  the  road  a  way  driving  a  fractious  horse — 
horse  got  frightened  at  donks — ran  away — upset  wagon 
— both  women  killed — expect  sheriff  and  posse  after  us 

210 


ADVENTURE   IN   A   SLEEPING-BAG. 

with  shot  guns.  You  weren't  in  the  muss  and  are  safe. 
Here's  my  mother's  address/' 

To  say  the  fellow  was  scared  half  to  death  doesn't 
express  it.  It  was  his  business  to  gather  information 
and  pace  our  party  out  of  every  town  on  the  best  road 
to  the  next.  On  this  occasion  he  took  us  out  on  the 
longest  road  to  Carroll,  saying  he  had  paced  us  on  that 
road  to  elude  pursuit. 

"Dey's  method  in  my  madness,  Mr.  Pod,"  said  the 
excited  fellow,  leaping  off  his  wheeel,  to  better  explain 
matters.  "If  de  whole  blamed  country's  after  yuse,  do 
yuse  tink  I  was  goin'  to  let  yuse  be  catched  if  I  could 
help  it?  We  sticks  togedder,  we  do,  tru  t'ick  an'  thin, 
an'  when  de  sheriff  t'inks  he  is  chasin'  yuse  one  way, 
we's  chasin'  ourselves  de  udder  way,  see?"  And  our 
courier  looked  heroic.  Pod  said  he  was  grateful,  and 
slyly  winked  to  Coonskin,  who  turned  his  head  and 
grinned. 

At  Carroll,  Pod  purchased  some  canvas  for  a  sleeping- 
bag.  He  said  he  was  tired  of  sleeping  in  barns  and  corn- 
cribs  and  such,  and  if  he  had  a  bed  of  his  own,  he  would 
be  independent.  Barley  sewed  up  the  canvas  for  him, 
to  save  expense,  and  we  left  town  with  the  patent  bed. 

Of  course,  the  men  were  anxious  to  put  the  thing  into 
service.  About  nine  o'clock,  the  three  crawled  in  and 
soon  went  to  sleep.  The  bagful  of  humanity  rested  on 
the  sloping  roadside  where  the  grass  was  thick,  their 
heads  being  at  the  higher  end,  their  feet  at  the  lower. 

We  donks  were  up  bright  and  early  the  next  morning 
eating  thistles,  when,  suddenly,  I  heard  Miss  Damfino 
giggling.  She  nodded  toward  the  sleeping-bag,  and  I 
saw  a  funny  sight.  The  seam  at  the  foot  of  the  bag  had 
been  ripped  by  the  weight  of  the  three  bodies  sliding 
down  against  it,  and  now  six  legs  were  sticking  out 

211 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

clear  up  to  the  knees,  the  feet  turned  skyward  in  all 
directions.  In  a  lumber  wagon  opposite,  a  farmer  sat 
taking  in  the  curious  sight  with  a  phiz  that  would  make  a 
monkey  laugh.  One  couldn't  tell  who  or  what  was  in 
that  bag,  except  for  human  legs.  Miss  Damfino  was  so 
convulsed  with  merriment  she  just  lay  down  and  rolled. 

Now  it  happened  that  Cheese  V  was  a  droll  wag,  and 
chock  full  of  innocent  mischief,  so  as  soon  as  his  eyes 
lighted  on  that  row  of  awkward-looking  feet,  he  quietly 
strolled  over  to  the  sleeping-bag  and  commenced  to  lick 
the  bare  soles  of  those  sensitive  pedals.  In  a  minute  the 
peaceful  bed  looked  as  if  hit  by  a  cyclone.  Such  yells, 
I  had  never  before  heard.  The  men's  heads  were  down 
so  far  in  the  bag  that  the  terrified  fellows  didn't  know 
which  end  to  crawl  out  of  first,  so  tried  both  ends  at 
once;  and,  slap  bang  me!  if  that  bag  full  of  live  things 
didn't  begin  rolling  and  hopping  about  the  highway  like 
a  sackful  of  oats.  One  could  have  heard  the  hollaring 
a  mile  off.  I  laughed  so  hard  I  thought  I'd  die,  and 
Cheese,  Damfino  and  Don  were  weak  from  the  strain 
of  their  risibles  long  afterward.  The  farmer  almost 
rolled  off  the  seat,  but  finally  he  pacified  his  excited 
horse,  got  down,  and  caught  the  animated  beg  before  it 
jumped  the  fence,  ripped  it  open,  and  pulled  out  the 
dazed  men.  For  the  life  of  me,  I  thought  at  one  time 
the  bag  would  reach  the  creek  across  the  field,  and 
drown  the  men.  Cheese  escaped  detection  for  his  prac- 
tical joke,  and  I,  from  the  way  Pod  leered  at  me  all  day, 
knew  that  I  got  all  the  blame. 


212 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

BY  PYE  POD. 

If  I  know'd  a  donkey  wot  wouldn't  go 
To  see  Mrs.  Jarley's  wax-work  show, 
Do  you  think  I'd  wollop  him? 

Oh,  no,  no !    Then  run  to  Jarley's 

— Old  Curiosity  Shop. 

Dennison  was  still  and  peaceful  when,  at  nine  in  the 
evening,  we  trailed  up  to  its  leading  hotel,  after  a  long 
and  tiresome  day's  walk,  for,  to  relieve  Cheese  and  Mac 
A'Rony,  Coonskin  and  I  had  journeyed  half  the  dis- 
tance on  foot.  But  we  left  next  day  in  good  season  for 
Arion,  taking  it  slowly,  as  Cheese  was  noticeably  lame; 
he  had  stumbled  in  the  darkness  the  evening  before.  At 
Arion,  so  aggravated  was  his  injury,  that  I  tarried  a 
whole  day,  for  I  appraised  him  a  valued  animal. 

When  I  resumed  the  pilgrimage,  I  took  it  slowly,  and 
relieved  the  animal  from  any  burden  more  than  his  sad- 
dle. Coonskin  and  I  took  turns  riding  Mac,  who  was  as 
chipper  and  strong  as  ever.  He  gloried  in  his  health  and 
vigor,  and  found  amusement  in  chaffing  his  unfortunate 
comrade. 

The  eve  of  May  thirtieth  was  spent  in  camp  a  few 
miles  from  Woodbine.  The  following  morning,  when 
we  were  still  two  miles  from  town,  my  courier,  who  had 
preceded  us,  wheeled  back  in  company  with  an  old,  white- 
haired  man  leading  three  white  Esquimaux  dogs.  The 
stranger  managed  his  sportive  pets  with  one  hand,  and 

213 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

carried  a  basket  of  apples  in  the  other;  and,  introducing 
himself  and  shaking  hands,  he  presented  me  with  the 
delicious  russet  fruit,  and  welcomed  me  to  his  home  in 
the  distance  as  his  guest  for  the  holiday,  a  pleasure  I 
was  compelled  to  deny  myself,  for  lack  of  time. 

According  to  his  own  account,  he  was  a  hermit  and 
lived  in  the  society  of  his  canine  companions,  as  he  had 
the  greater  part  of  his  seventy-five  years.  Content  to 
subsist  on  the  product  of  his  little  thirty-six  acre  farm, 
he  denied  himself  the  use  of  any  portion  of  a  small  for- 
tune of  $15,000  in  gold  which,  he  claimed,  he  had  buried 
somewhere  outside  of  that  state ;  nobody  had  ever  helped 
him  to  a  cent,  and  he  resolved  that  no  one  should  enjoy  a 
dollar  of  his  money. 

I  put  up  at  the  Columbia  Hotel,  Woodbine,  a  pretty 
brick  hostelry,  and,  after  an  enjoyable  lounge  in  the  par- 
lor, we  all  went  out  to  see  the  military  and  civic  parade, 
in  keeping  with  the  usual  Memorial  day  custom. 

The  band  assembled  from  all  quarters  and  kinds  of 
quarters — doors,  windows,  cellars,  barns,  corn-cribs, 
hay-stacks,  hencoops,  smoke-houses,  etc.,  and  without  de- 
lay began  tuning  instruments.  Their  uniforms  chal- 
lenged imitation.  No  two  were  dressed  alike.  Every 
horn  was  different;  they  tried  to  outvoice  each  other, 
when,  suddenly,  the  bass  drum  banged  away  and  upset 
the  equilibrium  of  the  horns,  until  the  snare  drums  and 
cymbals  interfered  as  peacemakers.  At  last,  after  much 
strain  of  nerve  tissue,  the  medley  of  musical  tools  settled 
down  to  a  good,  sensible  patriotic  tune,  which  held  sway 
for  fifteen  minutes. 

But  the  procession  that  followed  the  band  beggared 
description.  The  band  acted  as  leaders,  the  Grand  Army 
followed  as  pointers,  then  trailed  the  wheelers — carriages 
filled  with  citizens  and  farmers.  There  were  democrat 

214 


A   MAYOR   RIDES   MAC   A'RONY. 

wagons,  side-bar  buggies,  buckboards,  carts,  gigs,  sur- 
reys, hayricks,  baby  carriages,  wheelbarrows,  goat  carts, 
and  velocipedes.  Pedestrians  then  fell  into  line,  and 
brought  up  the  rear.  To  cap  the  climax,  a  big,  fat  man 
with  inflated  chest  galloped  past  on  a  faded,  wind-broken 
horse,  and  exhorted  the  excitable  celebrators  to  strictly 
obey  orders.  "Remember,  citizens,"  he  yelled,  "  let  us 
take  care  not  to  have  any  accident  to-day,  for  we  are  not 
used  to  'em  here!  "  The  procession  had  begun  slowly 
to  move  forward,  when  suddenly  the  command  was  given 
to  halt,  and  the  bangity-bang,  clapity-clap,  rip-slap  of 
wagon  tongue  against  wagon  boxes  sounded  like  freight 
cars  when  the  engine  clamps  on  the  brakes. 

The  firearms  carried  looked  as  if  they  had  been  loaned 
by  some  museum  for  the  event.  They  were  muskets, 
match-locks,  flint-locks,  and  minus-locks;  Winchesters, 
Remingtons,  Ballards,  Floberts,  Sharps,  Springfields; 
shot-guns,  muzzle-loaders  and  breach-loaders;  blunder- 
busses; carbines,  bean-shooters,  sling-shots  and  cross- 
guns — a  most  formidable  looking  arsenal.  Such  a 
pageant ! 

When  the  procession  arrived  at  the  cemetery,  the 
hearse,  filled  with  flowers,  stopped  in  front  of  a  newly 
made  grave.  Then  the  undertaker  in  black  clothes  and 
red  cap,  seated  beside  the  driver  in  blue  coat,  white 
trousers  and  stovepipe  hat,  banged  a  bass  drum  in  his 
lap  with  an  Indian  club,  as  each  floral  piece  was  placed 
on  the  several  soldiers'  graves. 

Presently  my  attention  was  directed  to  a  new  excava- 
tion, before  which  solemnly  stood  Coonskin,  as  immov- 
able and  statuesque  as  a  marble  slab;  and  soon  I  ob- 
served an  aged  woman  approach,  bend  toward  the  human 
statue,  and  read  the  pathetic  epitaph  on  his  back:  "Take 
Blank's  cathartic  pills  and  keep  healthy." 

215 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

"Poor  boy!"  she  exclaimed,  sorrowfully,  a  pity  to  have 
died  so  young." 

That  was  too  much  for  Coonskin,  who  instantly  re- 
sumed consciousness,  and  wheeled  about,  as  the  fright- 
ened mourner  gasped,  "Bless  my  stars,  alive!"  When 
Mac  took  in  the  situation  he  brayed  with  merriment, 
almost  shaking  me  out  of  the  saddle. 

The  interesting  proceedings  concluded  with  a  volley 
fired  over  a  grave,  and  at  once  bird  shot,  buck  shot,  salt 
pork,  hickory  nuts,  marbles,  acorns,  beans,  and  pebbles 
rained  about  us  frightfully.  When  the  firing  was 
through,  I  assisted  a  quack  doctor  probe  for  a  number 
one  duck  shot  in  Barley's  shoulder  and  an  acorn  in  Coon- 
skin's  leg.  As  I  mounted  my  terrified  donkey,  I  noticed 
the  old  woman  had  fainted.  Bending  over  her  was  a 
gallant  fellow  countryman  trying  to  fan  her  back  to  life 
with  his  broad-brimmed  hat,  while  exposing  patched 
trousers  to  an  admiring  crowd.  As  soon  as  she  came 
to,  we  started  for  the  hotel,  congratulating  ourselves  on 
our  narrow  escape. 

Next  day  we  set  out  for  Logan.  Our  arrival  was  sig- 
naled by  an  assembly  of  townspeople,  headed  by  their 
Mayor,  who  greeted  me  cordially  and  asked  to  ride  the 
celebrated  donkey.  He  rode  Mac  up  and  down  the  cen- 
tral street  before  the  cheering  throng,  as  had  the  Mayors 
of  other  towns  we  had  visited.  Then  I  delivered  a  lec- 
ture on  my  travels,  on  a  corner  of  the  business  street, 
after  which  Coonskin,  who  had  lately  received  his  banjo- 
guitar  from  home,  accompanied  me  with  my  mandolin, 
recently  purchased,  as  we  gave  a  short  serenade  of  music 
and  song  that  made  everybody  sad  and  wish  we  would 
depart. 

The  morrow  was  the  first  of  June;  I  welcomed  sum- 
mer joyfully.  Missouri  Valley  was  reached  in  the  after- 

216 


A   MAYOR   RIDES   MAC   A'RONY. 

noon,  and  there,  with  my  dog  chained  in  the  cellar  of  a 
hotel  and  the  three  donkeys  stabled,  we  men  retired  and 
slept  the  sleep  of  the  just. 

The  further  I  journeyed,  the  more  primitive  and 
squatty  were  both  dwelling  and  store  in  small  places,  and 
the  architecture  reached  the  superlative  of  simplicity  on 
the  plains;  but  I  observed  more  of  a  passion  for  flower 
gardens  and  shrubbery  evinced  west  of  the  Mississippi 
than  east. 

The  great  bluffs  characterizing  the  banks  of  the  Mis- 
souri now  loomed  up,  verdant  and  picturesque,  after  the 
genial  showers  and  sunshine  of  spring.  Every  turn  in 
the  road  presented  a  Different  kaleidoscopic  effect  to  the 
landscape.  Wild  roses  lined  the  roadside  as  we  passed 
in  review  with  our  hats  trimmed  with  blossoms,  and 
songbirds  caroled  sweet  melodies  from  early  morn  till 
eventide.  Pure  springs  and  wells  were  ever  within  reach, 
and  the  farmers  treated  us  to  brimming  bowls  of  sweet 
milk  and  buttermilk.  One  day,  after  imbibing  freely 
from  a  barrel  of  buttermilk,  standing  against  the  porch, 
where  I  was  chatting  with  the  housewife,  I  was  aston- 
ished to  see  a  calf  walk  up  to  the  barrel  and  drink.  After 
that  I  lost  my  appetite  for  buttermilk. 

All  through  Iowa  were  droves  or  bunches  of  white- 
faced  cattle,  the  predominating  breed.  I  was  told  that 
the  white-faced  cattle  make  the  best  beef,  which  seemed 
to  sustain  the  theory  early  advanced  by  the  Indians,  that 
pale-faces  made  the  best  roasts. 

During  the  last  few  days,  I  noted  a  happy  change  in 
Damfmo's  demeanor,  and  a  marked  improvement  in 
Cheese's  tender  feet.  Damfino  traveled  faster  and  more 
smoothly,  her  long  ears  swinging  back  and  forth  with 
every  stride  like  pendulums  of  a  clock  and  apparently 
assisting  her  to  walk  to  regular  time. 

217 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

Just  as  we  were  trailing  out  of  Crescent  City,  a  woman 
presented  me  with  a  large  bouquet  of  flowers. 

I  had  intended  to  travel  ten  miles  that  lovely  June 
night,  but  when  some  five  miles  from  town,  on  observ- 
ing an  inviting  grassy  lot,  I  decided  to  go  into  camp. 
We  let  our  donkeys  roam  at  will  and  graze,  and  spread 
our  sleeping-bag  under  an  apple-tree;  then,  with  Don 
on  guard  and  with  the  gleaming  stars  beaming  on  us 
through  the  boughs,  we  enjoyed  a  delightful  sleep.  At 
dawn  we  were  awakened  by  the  owner  of  the  property, 
a  short,  crabbed  individual,  who  lifted  a  dirty  face  above 
the  top  fence-rail  and  called,  "Git  out,"  to  us. 

I  was  awfully  sleepy  and  dozed  on  luxuriously.  After 
a  while  he  again  hailed  us,  now  from  the  opposite  quar- 
ter, but  still  on  the  outside  of  the  enclosure,  where  I 
could  see  him  eyeing  disapprovingly  my  huge  dog. 
Fnally  we  induced  him  to  come  into  our  camp,  on  the 
promise  that  our  dog  wouldn't  molest  him,  and  even 
invited  him  to  breakfast  with  us.  When  we  departed  he 
was  in  good  spirits.  He  said  he  lived  "over  in  that 
house  yonder  all  alone,"  because  he  couldn't  afford  to 
live  ''together."  Of  course,  we  understood.  He  in- 
formed me  that  we  were  following  the  old  Mormon  trail 
to  Council  Bluffs,  where  Mormonism  and  bigamy  flour- 
ished for  a  season  before  the  historic  band  of  pilgrims 
crossed  the  Missouri  in  1848.  Thursday,  June  third,  my 
donkeys  ambled  into  Council  Bluffs. 


218 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

He  was  mounted  upon  a  mule,  which  he  rode  gineta  fashion, 
and  behind  him,  by  the  duke's  order,  was  led  his  Dapple,  adorned 
with  shining  trappings  of  silk,  which  so  delighted  Sancho  that 
every  now  and  then  he  turned  his  head  to  look  upon  him,  and 
thought  himself  so  happy  that  he  would  not  have  exchanged 
conditions  with  the  Emperor  of  Germany. — Don  Quixote. 

The  city  of  Council  Bluffs  is  four  miles  from  the  Mis- 
souri River,  and  takes  its  name  as  many  people  do,  from 
both  sides  of  the  house.  Council  comes  from  the  old 
Mormon  councils  formerly  held  there,  and  Bluffs  is  bor- 
rowed from  the  bluffs  on  which  the  city  is  built. 

Often  such  things  are  handed  down  for  many  genera- 
tions; the  Mayor  seemed  to  be  constructed  on  the  bluff 
order.  He  had  the  consummate  cheek  to  tell  my  master 
he  wasn't  allowed  to  sell  photographs  without  procuring 
a  license,  and  thought  he  had  squelched  him,  but  he  al- 
most fell  out  of  his  chair  when  Pod  nonchalantly  pulled 
out  a  fifty  dollar  bill  and  said,  "Just  make  out  a  license 
at  once."  Then  he  went  to  work  and  did  a  land-office 
business,  taking  more  money  out  of  the  town  than  the 
Mayor  could  put  into  it  in  a  year's  time. 

Next  morning  Miss  Damfino  went  shopping,  coming 
back  with  a  brand  new  pair  of  shoes.  She  said  she  saw 
lots  of  donkeys  shopping,  and  began  to  distribute  to  a 
stableful  of  equine  and  asinine  gossips  such  a  lot  of  scan- 
dal that  I  was  ashamed  of  her.  She  had  also  discov- 

219 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

ered  the  startling  fact  that  there  was  one  more  river  to 
cross.  "Furthermore,"  said  she,  "our  highfaluting,  aris- 
tocratic, literary  genius,  Mac  A'Rony,  is  to  enjoy  the  dis- 
tinction of  crossing  the  great  Missouri  River  Bridge  in  a 
wheelbarrow."  This  caused  me  to  collapse.  I  fell  on 
my  knees  and  preyed  on  the  bed  of  yellow  straw,  and 
brayed  aloud  for  spirituous  support,  but  all  I  got  was  a 
bucket  of  water.  An  hour  afterward  I  was  saddled  for 
the  show.  I  had  experienced  riding  in  a  wheelbarrow  be- 
fore, and  did  not  like  the  idea,  but  said  nothing. 

Sure  enough,  when  we  arrived  at  the  bridge,  there 
stood  a  wheelbarrow,  just  brought  by  a  wagon  from  the 
Bluffs.  I  eyed  the  vehicle  disdainfully.  That  was  the 
same  kind  of  carriage  that  a  man  once  went  to  London 
with  to  fetch  a  wife  home  in,  and  now,  as  a  fitting  jubilee 
memorial  of  that  historic  event,  I,  a  respectable  scion  of 
an  ancient  race,  was  to  be  toted  across  a  bridge  into  a 
great  city  in  this  outlandish  vehicle,  to  the  cheers  and 
jeers  of  a  multitude.  The  event  was  heralded  in  the 
morning  papers  of  both  Council  Bluffs  and  Omaha ;  I  saw 
Pod  reading  about  it  on  the  way. 

At  the  bridge,  I  was  at  once  unsaddled,  and  my  luggage 
distributed  equally  between  Cheese  and  Damfino.  The 
quilts  and  blankets  were  folded  in  the  wheelbarrow,  and 
with  the  help  of  two  men  Pod  and  Coonskin  lifted  me  into 
the  one-wheeled  carriage,  where  I  was  strapped  and  roped 
so  securely  I  couldn't  budge  without  upsetting.  Pod 
wheeled  me  a  short  way  first,  then  Coonskin  relieved  him ; 
in  this  way  I  crossed  that  bridge  of  size.  When  half 
way,  I  thought  I  would  be  easier  if  I  turned  over,  for  it 
was  an  awful  long  bridge;  in  a  minute  I  was  on  the 
bridge  proper,  the  wheelbarrow  on  the  top  of  me,  im- 
proper. Wasn't  Pod  mad  though!  A  street-car  line 
crossed  the  bridge,  and  cars  full  of  curious  passengers 

220 


ACROSS   THE  MISSOURI   IN   WHEELBARROW. 

were  passing  continually,  having  paid  extra,  I  reckoned,  to 
see  the  circus.  I  had  to  be  untied,  and  again  deposited 
in  the  wheelbarrow,  and  do  you  believe,  those  human 
jackasses  didn't  have  sense  enough  to  lay  me  on  my  other 
side.  Then  another  distressing  circumstance  happened 
soon  after.  I  could  see  the  street  at  the  Omaha  terminus 
jammed  with  people  as  on  a  Fourth  of  July,  but  that 
didn't  matter;  a  horse-fly  buzzed  around  me  a  minute 
prospecting,  and  suddenly  made  his  camp-fire  on  my  lett 
hip.  Soon  the  fire  burned  like  fury,  and  I  not  able  to 
stand  it,  made  one  super-asinine  effort,  ripped  and  tore, 
and  upset  myself  and  Pod,  who  was  wheeling  me.  Then 
the  crowd  cheered  louder  than  ever.  Some  boy  with  a 
large  voice  yelled,  "Hurrah  for  Mac  A'Rony !"  and  three 
cheers  were  given. 

"I  think  he'll  walk  the  rest  of  the  way,  "Coonskin," 
said  Pod,  referring  to  me.  "Save  us  the  trouble  of  fixing 
him  in  the  wheelbarrow  again." 

Thinks  I,  I'll  just  get  even  with  the  Professor  at  once, 
and  I  lay  down  as  if  I  were  in  a  barnyard  for  the  night. 
It  didn't  take  those  men  long  to  put  me  in  the  wheelbar- 
row again,  I  tell  you.  This  time  Pod  didn't  seem  to  care 
whether  I  was  all  in  or  not.  My  tail  caught  in  the  spokes 
of  the  wheel,  and  wound  up  so  quickly  that  I  was  nearly 
pulled  out  on  the  bridge.  The  wheelbarrow  came  to  such 
a  sudden  stop  that  Pod  fell  all  over  me.  At  first  I 
thought  I  had  lost  my  tail  by  the  roots.  It  was  sore  long 
after.  Couldn't  switch  off  flies  with  it,  and  had  to  kick 
at  them,  and  ten  times  out  of  nine  I'd  miss  the  fly  and 
kick  my  long-legged  rider  in  the  leg  or  foot,  whereupon 
I  would  catch  it  with  whip  and  spur. 

At  length  we  crossed  the  bridge,  and  there  I  was 
dumped;  then  I  had  a  good  roll  in  the  dust,  just  to  show 

221 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

there  was  no  hard  feeling;  after  which  a  host  of  in- 
quisitive spectators  followed  us  to  the  Paxton  Hotel  in 
Omaha,  where  we  were  to  have  a  two  days'  rest. 

Good  fortune  began  to  fall  before  us  now  like  manna 
from  the  sky.  The  first  morsel  came  in  the  manner  of  a 
proposition  for  Pod  and  me  to  pose  in  front  of  a  leading 
apothecary's  shop  in  the  business  center,  and  extol  the  vir- 
tues of  fruit  frappe,  and  incidentally  his  perfumed  soaps, 
insect  powders,  and  dog-biscuits,  in  consideration  of 
several  dollars  in  silver.  The  frappe  clause  of  the  con- 
tract was  most  agreeably  cool  and  delectable  for  that  sum- 
mer season,  and  the  sample  doses  of  the  various  ices  to 
which  Cheese  and  I,  not  to  mention  Pod,  were  treated, 
furnished  rare  sport  for  an  appreciative  audience.  The 
cheerful  proprietor,  recognizing  my  blue  blood,  attempted 
to  feed  me  with  a  long,  silver  spoon;  I  so  admired  the 
spoon  that  with  my  teeth  I  stamped  it  with  our  family 
crest. 

As  the  demand  for  frappe  increased,  the  brass-but- 
toned society  began  to  gather  from  the  four  points  of  the 
compass,  and  finally  attempted  to  arrest  Pod  for  block- 
ing the  thoroughfare;  and,  but  for  the  timely  arrival  of 
the  druggist,  there  would  have  been  a  riot.  Coonskin 
had  two  guns  in  his  belt,  and  Pod  declared  he  would  not 
be  taken  alive. 

On  this  occasion,  besides  the  money  received  from  the 
druggist,  Coonskin  sold  many  chromos,  for  the  wily  Pro- 
fessor was  far-seeing  enough  to  work  in  considerable  non- 
sense about  his  travels,  and  got  even  the  police  so  inter- 
ested that  several  cops  wedged  through  the  gang  and 
purchased  souvenirs.  We  made  a  pretty  fair  street  show. 
All  were  there  but  Miss  Damfino,  who  felt  indisposed 
and  remained  indoors. 

222 


ACROSS  THE  MISSOURI  IN  WHEELBARROW 

One  of  our  severest  crosses  (some  folks  think  the  ass 
has  only  one  cross,  and  that  on  its  shoulders),  was  ex- 
perienced a  few  miles  southwest  of  the  city,  where  we 
donks  refused  to  walk  a  narrow  plank  over  a  shattered 
bridge,  and  were  forced  to  ford  the  stream. 


223 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

BY  PYE  POD. 

We  may  live  without  poetry,  music  and  art ; 
We  may  live  without  conscience,  and  live  without  heart ; 
We  may  live  without  friends ;  we  may  live  without  books ; 
But  civilized  man  cannot  live  without  cooks.        — Lucile. 

It  was  my  good  fortune  to  obtain  in  Omaha  a  most 
adaptable  teepee  tent,  a  triangular  canvas  bag,  as  it 
were.  One  man  could  put  it  up  in  a  minute.  This 
waterproof  tent  had  a  canvas  floor  stoutly  sewn  to  the 
sides,  and  when  the  door  was  tied  shut  neither  sand, 
water,  nor  reptile  could  invade  its  sacred  precincts;  mos- 
quito netting  across  the  two  smaal  windows  kept  out  all 
kinds  of  insects.  Three  could  sleep  in  it  comfortably, 
besides  allowing  ample  room  for  luggage  and  supplies; 
and  the  tent  with  its  folding  poles  only  weighed  thirty 
pounds.  This  extra  baggage  was  added  to  Damfino's 
pack,  for  she  was  large  and  strong,  and  by  this  time  in 
good  traveling  fettle. 

I  could  now  thoroughly  enjoy  the  outdoor  life  of  the 
West,  with  its  fresh  and  fragrant  air;  after  sleeping  a 
few  nights  under  the  stars,  only  some  imperative  emer- 
gency could  induce  me  to  spend  a  night  indoors.  Al- 
though my  two  attendants  were  not  companions  of 
choice  they  were  fairly  good  company,  but  my  courier 
unconsciously  furnished  entertainment  for  Coonskin  and 
myself.  He  had  such  an  absurd  dialect — he  said  he  had 
learned  it  in  an  eastern  factory  where  Irish,  Germans, 

224 


POD   IN   INSANE  ASYLUM. 

and  Swedes,  and  other  nationalities  were  employed — and 
his  gullibility  was  a  constant  challenge  for  practical 
jokes. 

One  day  at  supper,  an  idea  of  putting  up  a  game  on 
Barley  came  to  mind. 

"It's  a  pity  we  haven't  blue  beetle  sauce  for  our  quail, 
Coonskin,"  I  said,  giving  my  valet  a  sly  wink,  and  he, 
suspecting  I  had  some  joke  in  mind,  took  up  the  argu- 
ment. 

"You  bet,"  was  his  response.  "Seen  hundreds  of  bee- 
tles to-day." 

Barley  eyed  Coonskin,  then  me,  and  satisfied  that  we 
were  serious,  queried,  "Do  yuse  mean  wese  kin  make 
sauce  of  de  blue  beetles  what  wese  see  in  de  road?" 

"Why,"  I  said,  as  with  astonishment,  "haven't  you 
ever  heard  of  it  before?  Man,  they  pay  a  steep  price  for 
blue  beetles  at  Delmonico's.  Only  the  wealthy  enjoy 
such  a  luxury." 

"The  dandiest  stuff  I  ever  et  on  broiled  birds  of  any 
kind,"  seconded  my  valet  cleverly.  The  repast  over,  my 
courier  was  convinced  of  the  surpassing  virtues  of  blue- 
beetle  sauce. 

Next  day  the  bettles  came  out  thicker  than  ever.  With 
enthusiasm,  I  dismounted,  and  began  to  fill  my  emptied 
purse  with  the  insects,  and  Coonskin  followed  suit  by 
filling  a  handkerchief,  exclaiming:  "By  the  very  old 
Ned!  Gather  'em  all;  we'll  have  a  treat  for  the  gods." 

Up  to  this,  Barley  kept  on  his  wheel  within  talking 
distance,  but  now  he  leaped  off  and  made  a  dive  in  the 
dust  with  his  hat,  as  if  he  had  trapped  a  butterfly.  "Re- 
member, man,"  I  called  to  him,  "there  should  be  seven- 
teen in  every  family;  bag  every  one  of  them." 

"Here's  fourteen  Ise  got,  guess  dey's  one  family,  but 
can't  see  no  more;  besides  my  handkerchief's  full.  Has 

225 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

yus  got  a  sock  yuse  kin  lend  me?"  I  said  I  had,  and 
then  he  came  to  get  the  sock.  His  trousers  pockets 
were  filled  with  the  strong  smelling  beetles. 

Suddenly,  he  dived  for  a  whole  entomological  tribe 
almost  under  Mac's  feet;  had  the  donkey  not  leaped  over 
him,  we  all  would  have  been  hurt. 

We  lunched  in  a  small  village  where  I  purchased  pep- 
permint oil  for  flavoring  the  sauce.  That  night,  I  made 
a  concoction  that  would  only  satisfy  a  Siwash  appetite. 
We  had  bagged  two  dozen  quail  and  doves,  so  we  had 
plenty  of  game,  and  an  abundance  of  beetles;  the  next 
thing  in  order  was  a  heap  of  fun. 

After  frying  our  potatoes,  gun  oil,  peppermint  oil,  pink 
tooth-powder,  butter  milk,  lemon  juice,  and  beetles  were 
stirred  in  the  frying  pan,  and  when  it  began  to  sizzle  and 
steam,  Barley  was  put  in  charge  and  cautioned  to  keep 
stirring  it.  I  thought,  when  he  looked  at  the  repelling 
mess  and  inhaled  a  little  of  those  bug  aromas,  he  would 
smell  the  joke,  but  he  didn't.  He  kept  on  stirring,  and 
smacked  his  lips,  and  finally  said  that  it  looked  done.  I 
decided  to  bring  the  joke  to  an  end.  Going  to  the  fence 
ostensibly  to  tie  more  securely  the  donkeys,  Coonskin 
loosened  Damfino's  rope  while  I  seated  myself  at  our 
table,  and  called,  "Supper  is  ready."  At  once  that  grin- 
ning youth  chased  the  freed  donkey  plumb  into  our  fire, 
and  so  surprised  was  my  courier  that  he  never  knew 
whether  Damfino  or  Coonskin  kicked  over  the  pan,  and 
robbed  us  of  the  rarest  delicacy  on  record. 

I  stormed  about  like  a  madman,  and  blamed  both  at- 
tendants, then  went  at  the  hot  broiled  birds  inwardly 
delighted  with  the  success  of  the  joke.  Barley  never 
was  the  wiser.  The  following  day,  several  times,  he  told 
me  we  were  passing  lots  of  beetles,  but  he  wasn't  going 
to  spend  his  time  catching  them  to  be  wasted. 

226 


POD   IN   INSANE  ASYLUM. 

Something  followed  the  game  supper  which  more 
fully  explains  my  courier's  displeasure.  By  over- 
sight, one  of  the  socks  of  bugs  was  left  untied;  the  result 
was,  beetles  ran  the  tent  all  night.  Barley  claimed  he 
found  a  beetle  in  his  windpipe.  Coonskin  spent  the 
night  lighting  matches  and  hunting  the  pests.  I  myself 
smothered  a  score  of  more  in  my  pillow.  That  experi- 
ence closed  my  calendar  for  practical  jokes. 

On  to  Lincoln  was  now  the  watchword.  While  still 
five  or  six  miles  from  the  city,  a  donkey  and  cart  hove 
in  sight,  both  gayly  decorated  with  flags  and  bunting. 
The  driver  said  he  had  been  sent  from  Lincoln  by  a 
prominent  citizen  to  escort  me  and  my  party  into  the 
city. 

Barley  had  been  busy  stirring  up  the  populace,  so 
when  I  rode  majestically  up  to  the  leading  hotel  on  Mac 
A'Rony,  I  found  a  crowd  of  representative  citizens  there 
to  give  me  a  befitting  greeting.  As  soon  as  my  don- 
keys were  anchored,  a  tall,  fat,  jovial  member  of  the  med- 
ical profession,  advancing  with  outstretched  hand,  wel- 
comed me  to  the  city. 

"Mr.  Pod,"  said  he,  smiling  all  over,  "I'm  Dr.  E— 
and  am  at  your  service.    I  shall  take  pleasure  in  doing 
what  I  can  to  make  your  sojourn  a  pleasant  memory." 

The  first  thing  the  Doctor  did  was  to  take  me  to  the 
Executive  Mansion.  We  found  the  Governor  absent, 
but  easily  traced  him  to  a  local  sanitarium,  where  my 
escort  found  him  on  a  couch,  wrapped  in  swaddling 
clothes,  apparently  secure  from  all  intruders  but  the 
genial  Doctor  himself.  He  had  just  finished  a  Turkish 
bath,  but  he  sent  the  Doctor  for  me  at  once. 

"We  meet  under  difficulties,"  was  his  Excellency's  smil- 
ing greeting.  "I'm  trying  to  knock  out  an  attack  of 
rheumatism." 

227 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

"True  enough,"  I  acknowledged,  extending  my  hand, 
"both  of  us  are  flat  on  our  backs." 

Gov.  Holcomb  then  wrote  some  hieroglyphics  in  my 
autograph  album,  and  expressed  the  hope  that  I  would 
not  find  it  as  hot  on  the  desert  as  I  did  in  that  room. 

Our  next  stop  was  at  a  soda  fountain.  Then  we  vis- 
ited a  leading  clothier — where  I  procured  a  contract  to 
direct,  with  Mac's  assistance,  the  public's  attention  to 
alluring  bargains  in  its  show-windows.  For  this  I  re- 
ceived a  five  dollar  note. 

My  first  evening  in  town  was  pleasantly  spent  in  the 
company  of  Mrs.  Bryan,  who,  on  learning  that  I  was  in 
town,  invited  me  to  call. 

I  remained  in  the  last  evening  to  rest,  while  Coonskin 
and  Barley  took  a  trip  to  Burlington  Beach,  a  famous 
local  watering  place. 

"Wese  taught,  yuse  see,"  said  my  little  courier,  in  the 
morning,  "dat  it  was  something  like  Coney  Island;  so 
it's  bein'  only  ten  cents  round  trip  dare,  wese  takes  de 
trolley  an'  goes  down. 

"Well,  yuse  oughter  seen  de  place.  Before  wese  gets 
dare  it  begins  to  smell — why,  Coney  Island  ain't  in  it 
fer  smells.  Den  wese  gets  off  de  cars  and  shuffles  our 
feet  across  a  long  wooden  bridge  over  on  to  a  island, 
where  dare  was  a  dance  hall  and  lots  of  girls  of  all  kinds 
and  canal  boats,  and  dongolas,  and  drinks,  and  beers — 
talk  of  beers! — say,  wese  had  a  tank  dat  high  fer  a 
nickel.  Yuse  see,  de  beach  is  on  a  island  in  a  counter- 
feit lake,  made  of  salt  wells  and  sand,  but  day  ain't  no 
oysters,  ner  clams,  ner  crabs,  day's  nothin'  but  bad 
smells — but  say,  yuse  oughter  seen  de  lobsters  crawlin' 
round  wid  dere  sweethearts  on  dere  arms!  Say,  dem 
peoples  t'ought  dey  was  havin'  a  big  time.  Gee,  I 
wished  day  could  see  once  Coney  Island!" 

228 


POD   IN   INSANE  ASYLUM. 

We  had  not  journeyed  far  beyond  Lincoln  Park  be- 
fore we  approached  the  State  Asylum  for  the  Acute 
Insane.  From  the  beginning  of  my  pilgrimage,  I  had 
kept  a  sharp  lookout  for  Insane  Asylums,  always  passing 
them  after  dark,  but  Mac  argued  that  the  public  had  by 
this  time  found  me  harmless,  and  advised  me  to  call.  So 
I  did. 

"A  patient  has  arrived,"  some  one  called  to  an  attend- 
ant. I  was  startled,  but  soon  recovered  my  equilibrium, 
when  I  observed  several  doctors  and  nurses  rush  out  of 
doors  to  a  carriage  at  the  porch.  The  lunatic  having 
been  safely  deposited  in  one  of  the  wards,  the  Superin- 
tendent then  welcomed  me,  and  persuaded  me  to  accept 
his  invitation  to  visit  and  inspect  the  institution. 

There  was  only  one  department  that  interested  me.  I 
had  no  sooner  entered  the  kitchen  than  my  omnivorous 
eye  caught  the  pie-ocine  stratum  of  a  well-developed 
pie,  and  my  curiosity  led  me  to  inquire  if  it  were  made  by 
a  lunatic. 

"Why,  most  certainly,  Professor!"  exclaimed  the  Su- 
perintendent. "What's  the  matter  with  it?" 

"As  far  as  appearances  go,  I  think  it's  all  right — 
doesn't  look  different  from  any  other  pie  I've  seen  and 
eaten.  Shouldn't  think  a  crazy  man  could  make  a  decent 
pie,  though;  did  he  do  it  all  alone,  without  anybody 
watching  him?" 

"Oh  no,  we  employ  a  sane  cook  to  supervise  the  cook- 
ing," explained  the  officer,  much  to  my  satisfaction. 
"Will  you  have  a  piece  ?"  he  asked. 

"Y-y-y-y-yes,"  I  said  incredulously,  "if  you  are  sure 
there  is  no  danger  of  insanity  being  transferred  to  me  by 
such  a  delectable  agency." 

The  head  cook  then  butchered  the  great  pie  into  quar- 
ters, and  the  Superintendent  said,  "Help  yourself,  boys/' 

229 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

I  gathered  up  the  juicy  quarter,  and  saying,  "My  good 
sir,  you  have  heard  of  dog  eat  dog,  you  shall  now  witness 
Pye  eat  pie."  I  proceeded  to  devour  it.  I  couldn't  recol- 
lect ever  having  eaten  better  pie;  I  was  almost  prompted 
to  ask  the  cook  to  slaughter  another,  but,  instead,  car- 
ried the  remaining  quarter  out  to  Mac  A'Rony. 

When  we  had  left  the  asylum,  I  could  not  help  but  re- 
mark the  scrutiny  with  which  each  man  regarded  the 
other. 

At  length  we  went  into  camp  near  a  farm  house,  where 
we  certainly  acquitted  ourselves  in  a  manner  to  arouse 
the  suspicions  of  any  sane  observer.  We  put  our  sleep- 
ing-bag on  the  ground  outside  of  the  tent,  built  a  fire 
close  to  the  tent  on  the  windward  side  while  a  strong 
breeze  was  blowing,  cooked  creamed  potatoes  in  the 
coffee  pot,  and  steeped  tea  in  the  frying  pan;  and  Coon- 
skin  tied  all  three  donkeys  and  the  dog  to  a  small  sap- 
ling by  their  tails.  I  felt  sure  that  insanity  was  breaking 
out  in  our  party  in  an  aggravated  form,  and  congratu- 
lated Cheese,  Damfino  and  Don  for  not  having  eaten 
infected  pie. 

Camp  Lunatic,  as  we  called  it  was  visited  by  the  owner 
of  the  farm,  a  hospitable  German,  who  had  a  large  fam- 
ily. He  gave  us  a  generous  donation  of  corn-cobs  for 
fuel,  milk,  butter,  fresh  eggs,  and  water,  then  introduced 
his  wife  and  children.  I  asked  him  how  he  came  to  have 
such  a  large  family.  He  explained  that  he  had  a  large 
farm  and  couldn't  afford  hired  help,  and  he  thought  the 
best  way  to  remedy  the  difficulty  was  to  rear  boys  to  help 
him.  He  looked  hopeful,  although  he  had  eight  girls,  no 
boys. 

Supper  over,  the  farmer  conferred  on  me  every  pos- 
sible honor,  even  letting  me  hold  his  youngest  girl,  a 
child  of  ten  months.  He  said,  enthusiastically,  he  was 

230 


POD   IN   INSANE   ASYLUM. 

going  to  name  his  boy  after  me;  the  wife  smiled  heroic- 
ally. 

To  cap  the  climax,  I  was  asked  to  write  my  name 
in  the  big  family  Bible.  The  book  was  in  German. 
My  host  opened  it  to  a  blank  page,  and,  without  com- 
ment, I  inscribed  my  name  underneath  the  strangely 
printed  heading — Gestorben,  thus  pleasing  the  whole 
family. 

When  we  reached  our  tent,  Barley  began  to  find  fault 
with  me.  "What  for  did  yuse  want  to  write  your  name 
on  de  Gestorben  page?"  he  asked  seriously.  "Dat 
means  bad  luck,  dat  does." 

"And  why?"  I  inquired,  puzzled. 

"Gestorben  is  German  and  means  death,  yuse  crazy 
loon!"  he  returned.  It's  de  lunatic  pie  dat's  workin*  al- 
ready; wese  all  goin'  crazy." 

Next  day  was  hot.  In  the  afternoon  my  party  rested 
three  hours  in  the  shade  of  a  peach  orchard,  where  we 
were  treated  to  ice  cream  by  the  kind  lady  of  the  house 
close  by.  It  was  about  105  miles  from  Lincoln  to  Hast- 
ings, and  we  covered  it  in  five  days. 

Threading  the  villages  of  Exeter,  Crete,  Friend,  and 
Dorchester,  we  arrived  in  Grafton,  where  I  caught  my 
courier  in  a  dishonest  trick,  and  discharged  him. 

The  party  reached  Hastings  Thursday,  June  17,  where 
I  purchased  a  saddle  for  Coonskin.  Detained  by  a 
thunderstorm,  we  passed  a  miserable  night  in  close  quar- 
ters. Next  morning,  Mac  pranced  about  like  a  circus 
donkey,  and  trailed  to  Kearney  in  a  manner  almost  to 
wind  his  fellows. 

Before  leaving  Hastings,  the  Superintendent  of  the 
Asylum  for  the  Chronic  Insane,  three  miles  out  of  town, 
telephoned  me  to  stop  and  dine  with  him.  On  this  oc- 

231 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

casion  I  rode  into  the  asylum  grounds  without  hesita- 
tion or  nervousness. 

"You  must  earn  your  grub,  according  to  contract, 
Professor,"  said  the  Superintendent,  when  the  greetings 
were  over,  pointing  to  a  wood-pile  in  the  rear  of  the 
building.  As  soon  as  I  fairly  began  to  comply  with  the 
suggestion  his  young  lady  secretary,  the  daughter  of  a 
deceased  and  much  esteemed  congressman,  trained  a 
camera  on  me  and  the  axe  and  secured  a  picture. 

I  was  then  notified  I  had  more  than  earned  my  dinner, 
and  was  escorted  into  the  family  dining-room,  where  an 
enjoyable  repast  was  accorded  me,  after  which,  some 
twenty  wardens  and  matrons  purchased  photos  at  double 
price.  Then  I  resumed  the  journey  with  more  heartfelt 
blessings  than  had  been  expressed  to  me  on  similar  oc- 
casions. 

The  trail  was  superb.  But  an  intensely  hot  spell  fol- 
lowed, and  made  all  of  us  perspire.  Two  days  of  hard 
travel  brought  us  to  the  old  Government  Reservation  of 
Ft.  Kearney,  established  by  Gen.  Fremont  on  his  historic 
overland  trip  to  California  in  pioneer  days. 

The  fort  has  long  since  been  abandoned.  There  the 
Mormons  camped  for  a  short  period  after  leaving  Coun- 
cil Bluffs. 

Next  evening,  I  made  my  camp  on  the  site  of  the  no- 
torious Dirty  Woman's  Ranch  of  early  days,  and  spent 
a  Sunday  in  delightful  rest  and  recreation  in  the  shade  of 
the  grove  of  wide-spreading  elms  and  cotton-woods  that 
sighed  mournfully  over  the  deserted  scene. 

We  crossed  the  long,  low  bridge  over  the  Platte,  early 
in  the  morning.  It  required  nearly  an  hour  and  all  our 
wits  and  energies  to  get  the  donkeys  across,  even  after 
blindfolding  them.  And  when  my  party  ambled  into 
Kearney,  that  sultry,  dusty  June  day,  grimy  with  dirt 

232 


"Trail  through 
the  timber." 


"He  had 

caught  a 

nice  mess." 


'Climbing     Pike's 
Peak." 


POD   IN    INSANE   ASYLUM. 

and  perspiring,  we  all  were  in  ripe  condition  for  a  swim. 
The  little  city  looked  to  be  about  the  size  of  Hastings, 
but  did  not  show  the  same  enterprise  and  thrift.  In  fact, 
the  inhabitants  ventured  out  in  the  broiling  sun  with  an 
excusable  lack  of  animation,  and  seemer  to  show  no  more 
interest  in  their  local  affairs  than  they  did  in  Pye  Pod's 
pilgrimage.  It  was  here  I  first  saw  worn  the  Japanese 
straw  helmet.  It  served  as  a  most  comfortable  and  ef- 
fective sun-shade,  and  purchasing  a  couple,  we  donned 
them  at  once. 

Kearney  is  said  to  be  the  half-way  point,  by  rail,  be- 
tween New  York  and  San  Francisco.  My  diary,  how- 
ever, showed  I  had  covered  fully  two  thousand  miles  of 
my  overland  journey;  I  had  consumed  227  days,  with 
only  one  hundred  and  thirty-four  days  left  me,  the  pros- 
pects of  accomplishing  the  "feat"  in  schedule  time  looked 
dubious  enough. 

The  great  Watson  Ranch,  when  my  donkey  party  ar- 
rived, was  experiencing  its  busiest  season.  But,  while 
the  male  representatives  were  in  the  fields,  the  good 
matron  in  charge  of  the  house  made  us  welcome  and 
treated  us  to  cheering  bowls  of  bread  and  milk.  When 
Mr.  Watson,  Jr.,  arrived,  he  showed  us  about  the  place 
and  enlightened  me  about  alfalfa,  of  which  he  had  over  a 
thousand  acres  sown;  fifty  hired  hands  were  busy  har- 
vesting it. 

For  a  week  or  two  we  had,  for  the  most  part,  been 
trailing  through  the  perfumed  prairies  at  an  invigorating 
altitude  ranging  from  two  thousand  to  nearly  three  thou- 
sand feet,  inhaling  the  fresh,  pure  air,  gazing  on  the 
flower-carpeted  earth,  and  enjoying  a  constant  shifting 
of  panoramic  scenes  of  browsing  herds,  and  bevies  of 
birds,  and  occasional  glimpses  of  the  winding  Platte 
and  the  sand  dunes  beyond. 

233 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

The  cities  and  villages,  that  formed  knots  in  the  thread 
of  our  travels  on  the  plains,  came  into  view  like  the  in- 
coming ships  from  the  sea.  At  first  one  spied  a  white 
church-steeple  in  the  distance  like  a  pointed  stake  in  the 
earth  only  a  mile  away,  but  soon  the  chimneys  and  roofs 
and  finally  door-yard  fences  would  come  into  view,  then 
what  we  thought  a  village,  nearby,  proved  to  be,  as  we 
journeyed  onward,  a  town  of  much  greater  size  seven 
or  eight  miles  beyond  the  point  of  calculation.  The 
crossbars  on  the  telegraph  poles,  along  the  straight  and 
level  tracks  of  the  Union  Pacific,  formed  in  the  eye's  dim 
perspective  a  needle,  as  they  seemed  to  meet  with  the 
rails  on  the  horizon.  Little  bunches  of  trees,  scattered 
miles  apart  and  then  overtopped  by  the  spinning  wheel 
of  an  air  motor,  indicated  the  site  of  a  ranch-house  where 
we  might  procure  water.  The  trail  ahead  became  lost  in 
a  sea  of  flowers  and  grasses. 

From  time  to  time,  as  I  dismounted  to  ease  myself  and 
little  steed  I  picked  from  the  stirrups  a  half  dozen  kinds 
of  flowers,  ensnared  as  my  feet  brushed  through  the 
grasses.  Great  beds  of  blood-red  marshmallows;  natural 
parterres  of  the  wax-like  blooms  of  the  prickly  pear; 
scattering  stems  of  the  flowery  thistle  with  white  corollas 
as  large  as  tulips ;  and  wild  roses  and  daisies  of  all  shades 
and  colors — the  white  and  pink,  and  the  white  wild  roses 
being  the  first  I  ever  saw ;  these  with  varicolored  flowers 
of  all  descriptions  were  woven  into  the  prairie  grasses 
and  likened  the  far-reaching  plain  to  a  great  Wilton  car- 
pet enrolled  from  the  mesa  to  the  river. 

Some  of  the  sunsets  were  gorgeous.  At  times,  the 
western  sky  glowed  like  a  prairie  fire;  and  the  sunrises 
were  not  less  magnificent.  Sometimes,  we  were  over- 
taken by  severe  electric  storms,  and  obliged  to  pitch  the 
tent  in  a  hurry.  When  the  lightning  illuminates  the 

234 


POD   IN   INSANE   ASYLUM. 

plains  at  night,  the  trees  and  the  distant  towns  are 
brought  into  fantastic  relief  against  the  darkness,  like  the 
shifting  pictures  of  a  stereopticon. 

A  flash  of  lightning  to  the  right  reveals  a  church  or 
school-house,  to  the  left,  a  bunch  of  cattle  chewing  the 
cud  or  grazing,  ahead  of  us,  a  ranch  house,  and,  some- 
times, to  the  rear,  a  pack  of  cowardly  coyotes,  at  a  safe 
distance,  either  following  my  caravan,  or  out  on  a  for- 
age hunt. 

Often,  as  the  trains  swept  by,  the  engineers  would 
salute  with  a  deafening  blast  of  whistles,  frightening  the 
donkeys  and  entertaining  the  passengers.  Some  of  the 
prairie  towns  which  look  large  on  the  map  have  entirely 
disappeared.  In  one  case,  I  found  more  dead  citizens 
in  the  cemetery  than  live  ones  in  the  village.  Frequently, 
as  a  means  of  diversion,  I  left  the  saddle  to  visit  these 
white-chimney  villages  of  the  dead.  Such  might  be  con- 
sidered a  grave  sort  of  amusement,  but  really  some  of  the 
gravestones  contained  interesting  epitaphs.  In  one  in- 
stance the  following  caught  my  eye: 

"God  saw  best  from  us  to  sever 

Darling  Michael,  whom  we  love; 
He  has  gone  from  us  forever, 
To  the  happy  realms  above." 

Imagine  the  shock  to  my  sobered  senses  on  reading 
these  lines  cut  on  a  white-washed  wooden  slab,  close  by: 

"Here  lays  Ezekiel  Dolder, 

Who  died  from  a  jolt  in  the  shoulder; 
He  tried  to  shoot  snipe 
While  lighting  his  pipe, 

And  now  underneath  his  bones  moulder." 

Just  below  the  heartrending  epitaph  appeared  in  bold 

235 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

letters  the  satisfactory  statement — "This  monument  is 
pade  fer." 

On  the  lonely  plains,  miles  from  habitation,  a  single 
grave  fenced  in  with  barbed  wire  in  a  circular  corral,  I 
discovered  a  mate  to  the  preceding  epitaph,  which  il- 
lustrates the  utter  abandon  with  which  the  rugged,  dash- 
ing "bronco  buster"  regards  the  perils  of  riding  a  buck- 
ing wild  horse. 

"Here  is  buried  my  bronco,  Ah  Sam, 
Beside  me — I  don't  give  a  damn ! 
While  bucking  he  killed  me ; 
On  this  spot  he  spilled  me, 
And  now  the  devil's  I  am." 

Sometime  before  parting  with  my  courier,  unknown 
to  him  we  pitched  camp  one  dark  night  in  a  graveyard. 
Barley  was  an  early  riser,  and,  as  we  know,  as  super- 
stitious as  he  was  gullible.  He  was  the  first  out  of  the 
tent  at  dawn.  Suddenly  he  rushed  back,  exclaiming: 
"De  Resurrection  has  came,  fellows,  an'  wese  de  first 
livin'  on  earth  agin."  And  with  terror  in  his  eyes  and 
voice,  dragged  Coonskin  and  me  to  see  a  strange  sight 
indeed.  There,  some  forty  feet  from  the  tent,  stood  a 
towering  crucifix  with  a  figure  of  the  Saviour,  life  size, 
looking  down  upon  us,  while  about  us  were  tablets  and 
mounds:  the  scene  was  so  still  and  solemn  no  wonder 
that  my  awestricken  courier  thought  the  world  had  come 
to  an  end. 

On  the  24th  of  June,  after  a  hot  and  dusty  trail  across 
an  arid  waste,  where  only  occasional  patches  of  buffalo 
grass  and  cacti  matted  the  earth  in  the  place  of  the  long 
prairie  grass  and  flowers  we  were  tramping  in  a  few  days 
before,  my  weary  troop,  jaded  and  hungry  entered  the  lit- 
tle village  of  Overton. 

236 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

And  the  ass  turned  out  of  the  way,  and  went  into  the  field; 
and  Balaam  smote  the  ass,  to  turn  her  into  the  way. — Book  of 
Numbers. 

Shortly  after  reaching  Overton,  I  took  Pod  with  Coon- 
skin  and  Don  to  pay  our  respects  to  Towserville,  a  large 
dog  town  so  closely  situated  to  Overton  as  to  inspire  a 
rivalry  far  more  serious  than  that  existing  between  Min- 
neapolis and  St.  Paul.  Overtonians  complained  of  re- 
peated raids  made  by  prairie  dogs  of  Towserville  on  their 
chickens  and  gardens.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Towser 
"villians"  repudiated  the  calumny,  then  fled  in  confusion 
from  the  charge  of  shotguns  and  rifles. 

As  our  party  approached  with  guns  trained  for  a  com- 
plimentary salute,  I  saw  his  honor,  the  Mayor,  seated  in 
his  hallway.  The  roof  of  his  mound  towered  above  the 
other  habitations,  and  was  undoubtedly  the  City  Hall. 
Copying  after  New  York,  each  burrow  in  Towserville  had 
a  representative  in  the  City  Council. 

I'm  sure  we  would  have  been  welcomed  cordially,  had 
not  Don  wanted  to  be  first  to  shake  the  Mayor's  paw; 
his  honor  abruptly  excused  himself  to  avoid  a  scene,  and 
his  fellow  townsdogs  likewise,  with  the  result  that  the 
above  dogtown  population  rushed  in  and  slammed  the 
doors  in  our  faces.  The  Professor  was  embarrassed. 
He  had  no  visiting  cards,  so  decided  to  leave  at  each  door 
a  sample  box  of  cathartic  pills ;  and  a  careful  distribution 
was  made. 

237 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

Next  morning  as  we  passed  Towserville,  his  dogcel- 
lency,  the  Mayor,  his  alderdogs  and  towndogs  looked 
regretful  of  their  slight  to  us,  as  each  stood  at  his  door 
or  sat  with  his  housekeeper,  the  owl,  on  the  roof  of  his 
dwelling,  nodding  and  waving  at  us.  Others,  however, 
were  prostrate,  either  from  remorse  or  Pod's  mag- 
nanimity. 

Sometime  about  noon,  we  approached  the  shallow  cur- 
rent of  the  Platte,  where  we  were  unpacked  and  fed.  We 
donks  were  almost  roasted  from  the  sun's  scorching  rays. 
Close  by  was  a  deep  well,  but  no  bucket  in  which  to  draw 
water.  So  Coonskin  hitched  a  syrup  can  to  the  rope  and 
drew  water  for  Pod  and  himself.  Soon  a  drove  of  cattle, 
accompanied  by  two  ranchmen  and  a  boy,  came  down  to 
the  river  to  drink  with  us  donks,  just  to  show  there  was 
no  hard  feeling.  The  lad  laid  down  to  drink  from  the 
stream. 

"Here,  boy,  come  and  have  a  drink  of  cold  water!" 
Pod  called.  "That  ain't  fit  to  drink." 

"Fitter'n  that  well  water,"  answered  the  lad. 

Said  Pod:  "I'd  like  to  know  the  reason." 

"Well,"  replied  the  lad,  approaching,  "I  dropped  a 
dead  jackrabbit  in  the  well  a  week  ago." 

Somehow  the  men  had  drunk  so  much  of  that  cool 
well-water  they  hadn't  room  for  dinner;  too  cool  water 
I  guess  aint'  good  for  one  when  heated.  After  the  dishes 
were  washed,  Pod  took  off  everything  but  his  socks  and 
collar-button,  and  wrote  his  newspaper  letter,  while  Coon- 
skin  went  prospecting.  Pretty  soon  the  latter  returned 
with  a  sand  turtle  and,  hitching  it  up  in  a  rope  harness, 
said  he  was  going  to  keep  it  for  a  pet.  He  named  it  Bill. 
He  said  it  would  make  a  fine  center-piece  for  the  table; 
it  would  keep  the  Buffalo  gnats  and  mosquitos  and  flies 
off  the  victuals,  <and  if  tied  at  the  tent  door  no  centipede 

238 


NARROW   ESCAPE   IN   QUICKSAND. 

or  tarantula  would  dare  enter.  Pod  thought  it  a  good 
scheme.  So,  when  we  packed  up,  Bill  was  put  in  one  of 
my  saddle  bags,  without  my  knowing  it.  All  new  lug- 
gage was  generally  tied  on  to  Damfino;  I  supposed  the 
turtle  was. 

After  going  a  couple  miles,  I  felt  something  mysterious 
crawling  on  my  back.  I  looked  around,  but  my  master 
was  in  the  way ;  so  I  up  and  kicked  with  all  my  might,  de- 
termined to  scatter  that  crawling  thing  to  the  four  winds, 
but,  instead,  threw  Pod  completely  over  my  head.  Then 
I  ran  pell-mell  down  the  desert  trail,  kicking  and  braying, 
with  that  terrible  something  gnawing  my  hair  and  bounc- 
ing and  flopping  with  every  jump  I  made.  I  ran  fast 
and  thought  fast,  and  that  thing  stuck  fast.  Suddenly, 
I  stopped,  laid  down,  and  tried  to  roll  on  it.  This  I 
couldn't  do,  on  account  of  the  saddle  horn.  But  while  I 
was  still  trying,  the  rest  of  the  party  came  up,  and  solved 
the  mystery  by  capturing  the  turtle,  Bill;  then  they 
chained  him  on  Damfino,  and  our  outfit  moved  on  peace- 
fully for  several  miles,  the  men  talking  merrily.  Said 
Pod,  "Hitting  the  trail  on  the  plains  in  summer  isn't  as 
comfortable  as  driving  a  city  ice-wagon. 

"Not  much,"  Coonskin  returned ;  "but  the  donkeys  and 
dog  have  their  woes,  too." 

"Verily  so,"  confirmed  the  Professor.  "For  instance, 
there's  Damfino;  she  thinks  she's  awfully  persecuted. 
Being  a  female,  she  doesn't  have  much  to  say.  But  how 
about  Mac?  Doesn't  he  do  more  kicking  than  all  the 
rest  put  together?" 

"Oh,  well,"  Coonskin  answered,  "you  see  Mac  regards 
himself  a  pioneer  and  all  the  others  mere  tenderfeet." 

I  couldn't  help  grinning  at  the  simple  debate.  The 
fact  of  the  case  was,  our  caravan  had  been  growing  larger 
with  every  day's  travel.  New  articles  were  continually 

239 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

added.  Cheese  and  1  generally  carried  the  men ;  but  to  our 
saddles  were  hung  guns,  revolvers,  cameras,  and  the 
lantern,  not  to  mention  a  bundle  of  blankets ;  all  of  which, 
added  to  the  burden  of  our  thoughts,  a  nagging  whip  and 
a  pair  of  spurs,  and  a  million  and  one  buffalo  gnats,  mas- 
todon mosquitos,  and  other  kindergarten  birds  of  prey, 
tended  to  make  us  lose  our  mental  equilibrium  a  dozen 
times  a  day.  In  my  case,  there  was  a  lump  of  avoir- 
dupois in  the  saddle  ranging  between  150  and  160  pounds. 
Sometimes  Pod  would  get  out  of  his  seat  and  walk  a 
mile  or  two,  to  relieve  me.  With  Cheese  it  was  much 
the  same.  But  that  old  spinster,  Damfino,  bore  a  burden, 
increasing  daily.  She  was  large  and  strong,  and  couldn't 
appreciate  fine  sentiments,  or  fine  stuffs  either,  even  com- 
plaining of  sand  in  the  wind,  and  coughed  and  snorted 
continually.  Her  sawbuck  saddle  corset  was  laced  tightly 
around  her  robust  bust,  and  to  this  unhealthsome  vesture 
were  hung  on  both  sides  large  canvas  panniers,  packed 
with  canned  goods,  medicines,  salves,  ink,  cow-bells, 
vegetables,  ham  and  bacon,  vinegar,  old  shoes,  toilet  arti- 
cles, including  currycomb,  clothes,  soap,  flour,  salt,  bak- 
ing-powder, cheese,  coffee,  tea,  kerosine  oil,  matches, 
cooking  tools,  ammunition,  folding  kitchen  range,  and 
two  dozen  et  ceteras.  On  top  and  lopping  over  the  pan- 
niers were  roped  the  tent  and  tent-poles,  folding  beds, 
canteens,  musical  instruments,  axe,  and  axle-grease,  five 
iron  picket-pins,  packages  of  photos  (for  sale),  a  tin  wash 
basin,  two  tin  pails,  extra  ropes,  a  half  dozen  paper  pads, 
and  a  dozen  more  et  ceteras. 

Beneath  all  that  burden,  she  ambled  along  without  a 
murmur,  swinging  her  ears  to  help  her  outwalk  the  rest, 
except  Don,  who  kept  up  a  dog-trot. 

A  ranchman  gave  Pod  some  new  potatoes  one  day 
(half  of  which  I  yanked  out  of  the  tent  door  at  night  and 

240 


NARROW   ESCAPE   IN   QUICKSAND. 

devoured),  and  in  reply  to  his  habitual  inquiry,  "Where'll 
we  stow  'em?"  Coonskin  said,  "On  Damfino,  of  course." 
When  some  canned  goods  were  added  to  the  list  of  poi- 
sons, my  master  was  puzzled.  "Strap  'em  on  Damfino," 
advised  Coonskin.  Pod  bought  some  canteens.  "Where'll 
we  put  these?"  he  asked.  "Oh,  hang  'em  on  Damfino 
somewhere,"  said  the  wise  "Sancho."  One  day  a  large 
package  of  chromos  came,  and  the  Professor  was  dis- 
couraged. "How  the  d — 1  can  we  carry  these  ?"  he  asked 
with  bewilderment. 

"Why,"  ejaculated  the  valet  chuckling,  "right  on  Dam- 
fino." Just  then  that  silent  old  maid  looked  at  the  men ; 
and  I  saw  blood  in  her  eye. 

Picture  if  you  can  our  party  trailing  along  the  banks 
of  the  Platte  that  bright  June  afternoon.  A  few  miles 
away  loomed  the  cacti-covered  sand-dunes,  and  be- 
tween them  and  the  river  stared  the  desert  of  glistening 
alkali,  sprinkled  with  cacti  and  sage,  where  an  occasional 
steer  was  scratching  an  existence — and  mosquito  bites. 
We  came  to  a  muddy  irrigation  ditch,  where  the  water 
had  leaked  out.  Across  it  was  an  alfalfa  field,  and  be- 
yond that  an  adobe  ranch  house.  We  donks  thought  the 
mud  in  the  ditch  was  stiff ;  the  green  field  looked  tempt- 
ing. Damfino  whispered  that  she  would  make  a  bolt  for 
the  field,  if  we  would  follow ;  and  we  said  we  would.  At 
once  she  shied  into  the  ditch,  and  the  next  minute  was 
knee-deep  in  quicksand,  and  still  sinking.  Cheese  and  I 
stood  riveted  to  the  trail,  while  the  men  just  gaped  at 
Damfino  with  open  mouths.  Damfino,  thinking  she  would 
soon  be  out  of  sight,  brayed  as  she  never  brayed  before. 

When  Pod  got  his  senses  he  yelled,  "Let's  pull  her 
out!" 

"What  with?  Every  rope  and  strap's  on  Damfino," 
said  the  truthful  valet,  running  around  like  a  head  with 

241 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

the  chicken  cut  off.  Coonskin  tried  to  reach  a  rope  and, 
losing  his  balance,  put  a  foot  in  the  quicksand.  Then,  all 
excited,  he  attempted  to  pull  his  foot  out,  and  got  them 
both  in.  The  Professor  tried  to  reach  a  bridle-rein  to 
his  comrade,  and  went  sprawling  across  the  ditch  on  his 
corduroys  and  whiskers,  his  arms  elbow-deep  in  the  mire. 
This  put  Don  in  a  panic.  Seeing  his  master  sinking,  he 
grabbed  his  boots  and  pulled  them  off.  Then  he  fastened 
his  teeth  in  Pod's  trousers,  and  I  expected  to  see  them 
come  off  too,  but  s'  help  me  Balaam !  the  dog  only  pulled 
off  one  trouser  leg,  when  Coonskin  managed  to  free  him- 
self by  crawling  over  Pod's  corduroy  road  to  dry  land, 
and  saved  the  day !  At  once,  with  a  bridle-rein,  the  valet 
roped  the  Professor's  feet  and  pulled  him  out,  after 
which  both  men  fastened  the  reins  to  Damfino's  pack 
and  tied  the  other  ends  to  the  saddles  of  Cheese  and  my- 
self. Then  that  she-ass,  wet  and  gray  as  a  rat,  with  her 
burden,  was  dragged  out  of  the  ditch  into  the  trail. 
Well,  that  quicksand  pulled  all  the  bad  nature  out  of  her, 
and  she  went  a  long  time  before  she  was  tempted  to  leave 
the  trail  again. 

The  men  looked  grateful  as  they  wiped  the  brine  from 
their  faces,  and  Pod  remarked,  "That  was  a  narrow 
escape  for  all  of  us.  Our  donkey  party  came  within  two 
of  going  ass-under,  sure." 


242 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

BY    PYE    POD. 

It  has  come  about  that  now,  to  many  a  Royal  Society,  the  Cre- 
ation of  a  World  is  little  more  mysterious  than  the  cooking  of  a 
dumpling;  concerning  which  last,  indeed,  there  have  been  minds 
to  whom  the  question,  How  the  apples  were  got  in,  presented 
difficulties.— Sartor  Resartus. 

It  was  noon  at  Big  Springs,  the  last  village  on  the 
Union  Pacific  Railroad  in  Nebraska,  when  I  sat  down 
to  write  in  my  dairy.  I  had  just  finished  a  combination 
breakfast  and  dinner,  warranted  to  kill  any  appetite  and 
keep  it  dead  for  twelve  hours.  Consequently  I  wrote 
under  great  pressure. 

Since  striking  Camp  Coyote,  I  had  shot  prairie  dogs, 
owls,  jack-rabbits,  and  gophers  innumerable,  but  on  Wed- 
nesday, June  30,  I  killed  my  first  rattlesnake.  It  was  not 
the  first  we  had  seen,  but  the  first  to  lie  in  our  path.  I 
wanted  to  shoot  it's  head  off,  but  instead  of  it  losing  its 
head,  I  lost  mine,  and  severed  its  vertebrae.  The  snake 
was  three  feet  five,  and  possessed  eight  rattles  and  a  but- 
ton. Cookskin  suggested  that  the  button  might  come  in 
handy  in  many  ways.  "You  know,  Pod,  you  are  always 
losing  buttons." 

These  dreaded  reptiles  abound  on  the  plains,  particu- 
larly in  dogtowns,  where  they  can  dine  on  superfluous 
baby-dogs  when  families  become  too  large.  Three  sorts 
of  creatures,  including  the  owl — animal,  bird,  and  reptile — 
bunk  together  companionably,  but  have  quarrels  of  their 
own,  doubtless,  like  mankind  in  domestic  affairs.  At 

243 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

that  season  the  South  Platte  was  drained  for  irrigation 
in  Colorado.  I  was  riding  peaceably  along,  watching 
its  morbid  current  and  the  gray  hills  beyond,  when  sud- 
denly my  valet  yelled  to  me,  "Look  out,  Pod,  a  rattler 
ahead!" 

Coonskin  was  riding  Cheese,  who  leaped  to  one  side, 
but  my  own  steed,  blinded  by  his  spectacle-frames,  walked 
on  and  stepped  over  the  coiled  snake,  which  struck  at  my 
leg.  Fortunately  my  canvas  legging  protected  me  from 
the  reptile's  fangs,  which  glanced  off,  letting  him  fall  in 
the  trail.  Instantly  I  turned  in  my  saddle  and  ended  its 
miserable  existence. 

The  report  of  my  revolver  attracted  some  cowboys, 
who  galloped  up  on  their  rope  horses  and  accompanied 
us  to  their  adobe  house  a  few  miles  beyond.  It  was  five 
in  the  afternoon,  the  day  was  hot,  and  our  journey  long 
and  dusty.  They  were  a  jolly  lot.  Thir  ranch  was  a 
square  sod  structure,  without  a  floor,  and  sparingly  fur- 
nished, but  cool  and  comfortable. 

"We'll  have  hot  biscuit  for  supper,"  said  one  of  the 
cowboys. 

"So  you  like  cooking,"  I  remarked;  "I  pride  myself 
on  the  dumplings  I  make,  and  my  flapjacks  are  marvels 
of  construction." 

"Hang  together  well,  I  suppose,"  observed  the  cook, 
smiling  and  piling  buffalo  chips  in  the  stove. 

"I  haven't  tasted  dumplings  since  I  visited  the  World's 
Fair,"  said  another. 

"Well,"  declared  the  first  speaker,  '*my  tenderfoot 
friend,  your  oven  will  soon  be  hot,  and  the  flour,  soda, 
shortening,  and  apples  are  on  the  shelf.  Anything  else 
you  need,  ask  for  it." 

I  was  in  a  bad  fix;  I  remembered  the  parrot  that  got 
into  trouble  with  the  bull-terrier  by  talking  too  much. 

244 


AT   BUFFALO    BILL'S   RANCH. 

"It  requires  a  long  time  to  steam  dumplings ;  it  will 
delay  supper,"  I  protested. 

"We  shan't  turn  you  out,  if  it  takes  you  all  night,  but 
we'll  shoot  the  enamel  off  your  front  teeth  if  you  don't 
make  them  apple  dumplings,  and  do  your  best,"  said  a 
cowboy. 

"All  right,  boys,  I'll  try  my  luck,  and  you  can  save 
time  by  helping." 

"Sure,"  all  replied. 

"Fetch  me  the  shortening,"  I  called. 

"Right  before  your  eyes,"  said  one. 

"Blamed  if  I  can  see  it,"  I  explained.  The  fellow  put 
his  hands  on  a  cake  of  greasy-looking  substance. 

"That's  soap,"  I  said,  remonstrating,  with  a  chuckle. 

"All  we  use  for  shortening,"  apologized  the  cook; 
"don't  see  much  butter  or  lard  out  on  this  here  desert." 

I  fell  to  with  a  will.  Before  long  my  dough  was  mixed. 
As  I  rolled  it  out  with  a  tin  can,  I  directed  a  cowboy  to 
put  in  the  apples  and  roll  up  the  dough.  Soon  the  dump- 
lings were  in  the  steamer,  and  the  cook  began  to  prepare 
other  eatables  for  the  meal.  Then,  my  duty  done,  I 
watched  two  fellows  throw  the  lariat,  and  shoot  the  fly 
specks  off  Coonskin's  hat  in  midair. 

At  last,  five  hearty  eaters  sat  down  to  dinner.  The 
cook's  hot  biscuits,  potatoes,  bacon,  eggs  and  coffee  were 
delicious,  and  I  devoured  them  greedily.  But  in  the  mid- 
dle of  our  repast  I  turned  my  head  in  time  to  detect  the 
cook  meddling  with  the  dumplings. 

"Shouldn't  take  off  the  cover  till  they're  done,"  I 
shouted ;  "makes  'em  heavy." 

"Didn't  take  it  off— lifted  itself  off,"  explained  the  man, 
regarding  me  first,  then  the  steamer.  "Man  alive,  the 
dumplings  are  as  big  as  cabbages." 

245 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

"And  'tain't  more'n  likely  they've  got  their  growth 
yet,"  said  Coonskin,  who  examined  the  wonders. 

"Gracious !"  I  exclaimed.  "How  many  apples  did  you 
cram  into  each  dumpling?" 

"Only  fifteen  or  twenty,"  the  cook  returned;  "awfully 
small,  you  know." 

"That  explains  the  size  of  them,"  said  I.  "You've  got 
a  half  dozen  whole  apples  in  each  dumpling,  and  a  peck 
or  more  in  the  steamer.  Don't  you  know  dried  fruit 
swells?" 

"But  how  am  I  to  keep  the  lid  on  the  steamer,"  asked 
the  hungry  cook,  wistfully  eying  the  disappearing  meal. 

"Sit  on  it,  you  crazy  loon,"  suggested  a  companion." 

And  the  fellow  did.  Presently  there  was  a  deafening 
report,  and  the  cook  was  lifted  off  the  steamer,  while 
dumplings  flew  in  every  direction,  striking  the  ceiling, 
and  then,  from  heaviness,  dropping  on  the  floor.  One 
broke  my  plate  into  a  dozen  pieces.  Another  hot  and 
saucy  dumpling  shot  through  the  bursted  side  of  the 
steamer,  hitting  one  of  the  cowboys  in  the  eye. 

"Just  my  luck,"  I  said ;  "they  would  have  been  as  light 
as  a  feather." 

"Light!"  exclaimed  the  injured  fellow  with  a  hand- 
kerchief against  his  scalded  optic.  "It  was  the  heaviest 
thing  that  ever  hit  me,  let  me  tell  you,  and  I've  been 
punching  cattle  seven  years." 

When  the  excitement  was  over,  and  we  had  found  suffi- 
cient grub  to  complete  our  meal,  all  assembled  in  the  cool 
outer  air,  where  Coonskin  and  I  entertained  with  our 
musical  instruments  until  bedtime. 

Next  morning,  on  my  suggestion,  a  cowboy  threw  his 
lariat  round  my  body  good-naturedly  and  pulled  me  over, 
but  before  I  could  right  myself  Don  took  three  bounds 
and  pulled  the  fellow  down  by  the  shoulder,  frightening 

246 


AT   BUFFALO   BILL'S   RANCH. 

one  and  all.  I  shouted  so  loudly  to  the  dog  that  I  was 
hoarse  for  a  week.  That  demonstration  of  Don's  loyalty 
was  a  revelation  to  me.  The  man  was  not  injured,  al- 
though his  coat  was  torn. 

The  lack  of  energy  and  enterprise  of  the  town  of  the 
western  plains  was  both  surprising  and  amusing.  I  ex- 
pected a  package  of  photos  at  Willow  Island.  When  I 
called  for  it  I  was  informed  that  the  railroad  station  had 
burned  a  few  months  before,  and  that  their  express 
stopped  at  Cozad,  which  I  had  passed  through.  So  I 
wrote  to  have  the  package  forwarded  to  a  station  farther 
west. 

Gothenburg,  the  next  town,  was  in  a  decline,  the  re- 
action of  a  boom.  A  traveler  approaching  it  expects  to 
find  a  business  center.  Many  stores  and  dwellings  were 
of  brick,  but  whole  rows  were  vacant  at  the  time.  The 
soothing  melody  of  the  squalling  infant  was  only  a 
memory  to  the  village  druggist;  the  itinerant  butcher 
and  milkman  had  ceased  their  daily  rounds ;  and  all  that 
was  left  to  distinguish  the  half-deserted  village  from  the 
desert  was  an  occasional  swallow  that  went  down  the 
parched  mouth  of  a  chimney.  There  is  another  town 
characteristic  of  the  plains.  I  had  a  letter  to  post  at 
Paxton,  but  forgot  it;  some  miles  beyond,  a  ranchman 
whom  we  met  said  I  would  find  a  post-office  at  Korty,  five 
miles  further  on.  After  traveling  two  hours,  we  could 
see  no  vestige  of  a  village  anywhere.  Don  ran  ahead  to 
the  top  of  every  sand  hill  and  stood  on  his  hind  feet  to 
have  the  first  peep  at  the  mysterious  town.  I  came  to 
the  conclusion  the  ranchman  had  said  twenty-five  miles 
instead  of  five.  Finally  the  trail  approached  the  railroad. 

"I  see  the  town  of  Korty !"  my  valet  exclaimed. 

"Where?"  I  asked. 

247 


ON  A  DONKEY'S   HURRICANE  DECK 

"There.  Plain  as  day.  Can't  you  see  it?"  he  asked, 
pointing  straight  ahead. 

"I  must  confess  I  can't,"  I  replied.  "Let  me  look  over 
your  finger."  Then  I  saw  it.  It  wasn't  one  hundred 
feet  away.  A  single  white-painted  post  stood  beside  the 
track,  and  on  it  was  nailed  a  cross-bar,  lettered  in  bold 
type,  "Korty;"  underneath  was  a  letter-box.  That  was 
the  town.  There  was  no  section  house,  no  water  tank, 
no  break  in  the  wire  fence,  and  there  being,  of  course,  no 
general  delivery  window  in  the  "post-office,"  I  did  not  ask 
for  my  mail. 

On  the  way  to  North  Platte,  we  passed  the  site  of  old 
Ft.  McPherson,  where  Buffalo  Bill,  the  celebrated  scout, 
once  lived  and  won  his  fame  and  title  by  providing 
buffalo  meat  for  the  Government,  and  also  the  site  of  a 
notorious  Pawnee  village,  now  called  Pawnee  Springs. 
We  reached  North  Platte,  situated  at  the  confluence  of 
the  North  and  South  Platte  rivers,  which  form  the  great 
River  Platte,  Saturday  afternoon,  and  spent  Sunday  in 
a  manner  to  meet  the  approval  of  the  most  pious. 

That  first  evening  I  lectured  from  a  large  dry-goods 
box  on  a  prominent  corner. 

Sunday  afternoon  an  old  friend  and  classmate  drove 
me  into  the  country  to  the  famous  "Scout's  Rest  Ranch," 
the  estate  of  Mr.  Cody  (Buffalo  Bill),  where  I  saw  a  herd 
of  buffalo  and  a  cornfield  of  500  acres. 

"There  is  quite  a  contrast  between  your  cornfield  and 
mine/'  I  said  to  the  manager. 

"How  big  a  cornfield  have  you  ?" 

"Just  a  small  one,"  I  replied.  "One  acher  on  each  big 
toe." 

"I  see,  only  sufficient  for  your  own  use,"  came  the  re- 
sponse ;  "your  'stock  in'  trade,  as  it  were."  Then  the 
ranchman  purchased  a  photo,  and  we  two  grown-up  school 

248 


AT   BUFFALO   BILL'S   RANCH. 

boys  drove  back  to  town,  in  time  to  escape  a  thunder 
shower. 

The  country  between  North  Platte  and  Julesburg  is  a 
desolate  and  barren  region.  Occasionally  we  could  see 
a  ranch  house,  sometimes  cattle  grazing  on  I  knew  not 
what.  There  was  plenty  of  alkali  grass  in  the  bottom 
lands  of  the  Platte,  and  further  back  on  the  mesa,  patches 
of  the  short  and  nutritious  buffalo  grass,  half  seared  by 
the  scorching  sun.  The  railway  stations,  with  one  or  two 
exceptions,  consisted  of  water  tanks  and  section  houses, 
where  water  could  be  procured.  At  Ogalala  we  met  a 
train-load  of  Christian  Endeavorers,  and  had  a  chance 
to  quench  our  thirst. 


249 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 
BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

What  a  thrice  double  ass 
Was  I,  to  take  this  drunkard  for  a  god, 
And  worship  this  dull  fool!  — Tempest. 

Where  and  how  to  celebrate  the  Fourth  of  July  greatly 
concerned  Pye  Pod.  The  third  was  spent  in  Julesburg,  a 
town  in  Colorado,  two  miles  west  of  the  boundary  line; 
as  Sunday  was  the  Fourth,  we  naturally  expected  a  lively 
programme  for  Saturday. 

We  were  disappointed.  Everybody  had  gone  off  on 
an  excursion,  and  Julesburg  was  dead.  So  my  master, 
realizing  the  long  journey  before  us,  inquired  as  to  the 
possibility  of  obtaining  an  extra  donkey,  and  was  told  of 
one,  some  six  miles  from  town.  He  rode  in  a  buggy 
to  a  ranch  right  after  lunch  and  brought  back  the  pret- 
tiest damsel  I  ever  saw.  Her  name  was  Skates;  Pod 
said  he  so  named  her  because  she  ran  all  the  way  and 
beat  his  pride-broken,  wind-broken  horse  into  town.  I 
gave  Skates  a  loving  smile,  but  she  gave  me  a  look,  which 
said,  "Keep  your  distance,  young  feller."  So  I  did.  But 
I  lost  my  heart  to  that  girl  then  and  there. 

Pod  noticed  my  leaning  toward  Skates,  and  asked  me 
my  intentions.  I  frankly  told  him.  "But  what  nonsense 
for  a  youth  of  four  years,"  he  remarked.  "Mac,  be  pa- 
tient ;  wait  until  you  are  of  age,  at  least." 

Time  was  precious,  and  we  could  not  tarry.  That 
afternoon  we  set  out  for  Sterling,  sixty  miles  into  the 

250 


FOURTH   OF   JULY   IN   THE   DESERT. 

desert,  where,  it  was  said,  there  would  be  a  big  time  on 
the  fifth. 

Monday  dawned  cloudy  and  threatening,  as  is  usual 
with  celebration  days.  The  tent  door  was  open,  and 
Skates  and  I  were  looking  in,  I  waiting  for  a  chance  to 
pull  a  bag  of  eatables  out  of  the  tent  for  her. 

"What  is  your  programme  for  to-day  ?"  Pod  asked  his 
valet. 

No  answer.  The  question  was  repeated;  still  no  re- 
sponse. Then  my  master  turned  drowsily  on  his  pillow, 
and  beheld  Coonskin  with  bloodshot  eyes  and  the  only 
whiskey  bottle  clasped  lovingly  to  his  breast.  The  valet 
wanted  to  say  something,  but  his  lips  refused  to  speak. 
It  was  evident  that  his  celebration  had  begun  the  night 
before.  Pod  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes  to  make  sure 
he  was  not  dreaming,  and  then  asked  the  fellow  why  he 
drank  all  the  emergency  whiskey. 

"R-r-r-r-r-r-r-rat-schnake  bite-bite-bited  me  —  d  — 
drank  whisky  t'shave  life,"  stammered  the  youth.  "H-h- 
h-hic-have  shome,  Prof." 

Pod  looked  mad.  He  up  and  dressed,  and  mixed  soda 
and  water  and  lemon  juice,  and  made  Coonskin  drink  it. 
Soon  the  tipsy  fellow  tried  to  dress,  but  finally  gave  it  up 
and  went  to  sleep.  Two  hours  later  he  awoke  quite  sober, 
and  came  out  to  where  Pod  was  currying  me  for  the  cele- 
bration, and  showed  him  his  programme.  I  haven't  space 
to  give  it  in  full. 

One  feature  was  an  obstacle  race,  the  prize  for  the 
winner  being  a  quart  bottle  of  snake-bit  (whiskey). 
Coonskin  said,  as  his  excuse  for  drinking  the  whiskey, 
that  he  was  certain  of  winning  the  race,  but  afraid  the 
bottle  might  be  broken  before  the  event.  Pod  thought 
that  reasonable  enough,  and  forgave  him ;  but  he  told  me 
confidentially  that  he  didn't  know  what  he  should  do  if  he 

251 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

were  bitten  by  a  rattlesnake  without  whiskey  at  hand.  I 
suggested,  in  such  event,  he  should  point  a  revolver  at 
Coonskin's  garret,  where  his  brains  ought  to  have  been, 
and  make  him  suck  out  the  poison. 

The  obstacle  race  began  at  eleven  in  the  morning.  The 
start  was  made  from  the  tent  door;  the  course  and  con- 
ditions were  as  follows : 

Run  to  the  fifth  fence-post  down  the  trail,  alongside  the 
railroad  track ;  crawl  through  the  barbed-wire  fence  four 
times  between  different  posts  on  the  way  back  to  the 
tent,  without  tearing  clothes;  creep  through  the  legs  of 
the  little  portable  table  (purchased  in  Julesburg)  without 
rolling  off  an  egg  resting  on  it;  run  a  hundred  yards  and 
unpicket  one  of  the  donkeys  and  ride  it  round  the  tent 
three  times  with  a  spoon  in  hand,  holding  an  egg ;  ride  the 
donk  back  to  his  picket-pin  and  crawl  between  its  hind  legs 
without  disturbing  the  animal's  equilibrium ;  stand  in  the 
tent  door  and  shoot  some  hair  off  one  of  the  donkey's 
tails  without  touching  the  tail  proper;  then  lead  that 
donkey  to  the  tent  and  hitch  him  to  the  turtle,  Bill. 
Cheating,  if  detected,  forfeited  the  prize. 

Well,  while  there  were  two  starters,  there  was  only 
one  finisher.  It  seems  that  Coonskin  shot  a  piece  off 
Cheese's  tail  (improper,  the  donk  said),  and,  in  conse- 
quence, man  and  donk  disappeared  over  the  horizon,  with- 
out leaving  their  future  address  or  the  date  for  their 
return. 

Coonskin  rode  Cheese  into  camp  after  dark.  Then  he 
rubbed  axle-grease  on  Cheese's  sensitive  part,  and  pre- 
pared the  delayed  dinner.  Next  came  fire-works — Roman 
candles,  firecrackers,  and  pin-wheels — after  which  both 
men  retired,  fancying  they  had  the  j  oiliest  Fourth  ever 
witnessed  by  man  or  donkey  in  the  history  of  the  Colorado 
desert. 

252 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

BY  PYE  POD. 

Sancho  Panza  hastened  to  his  master's  help  as  fast  as  his  ass 
could  go,  and  when  he  came  up  he  found  the  knight  unable  to 
stir,  such  a  shock  had  Rosinante  given  him  in  the  fall. — Don 
Quixote. 

The  casualty,  which  terminated  our  celebration  on  the 
fifth,  seemed  to  portend  bad  luck.  The  metaphorical 
lightning  first  struck  me.  We  struck  camp,  that  hot  July 
day,  before  the  sun  was  an  hour  high,  and  a  mile  beyond 
trailed  through  a  dog-town  reservation.  I  had  long  been 
desirous  of  securing  a  prairie  dog  to  have  mounted ;  as  a 
rule  one  can  pick  off  these  shy  creatures  only  at  long 
rifle  range.  This  morning,  stealing  up  behind  a  corn- 
field, I  wounded  a  dog,  then  dropping  my  gun,  ran  to 
catch  him  before  he  could  escape  into  his  hole.  Crawling 
through  a  barbed-wire  fence  without  afterward  appear- 
ing in  dishabille  is  considered  by  a  tenderfoot  the  feat  of 
feats.  Before  I  reached  the  hole  half  undressed  the  dog 
had  tumbled  into  it.  He  must  have  made  a  mistake,  how- 
ever, for  out  the  fellow  came,  and  made  for  another  hole. 
I  grabbed  him,  but  instantly  dropped  him,  for  he  tried  to 
bite  me.  Then,  like  a  shot,  he  dived  into  the  second  hole, 
and  I  thrust  my  arm  in  to  pull  him  out.  But  my  hand 
came  out  quite  as  fast  as  it  went  in.  It  was  bitten ;  and 
at  the  mouth  of  the  hole  I  now  detected  for  the  first  time 
the  tail  of  a  rattlesnake.  Hhat  was  an  awful  moment, 
What  should  I  do?  My  whiskey  was  gone;  I  had  no 

253 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

antidote  for  the  poison.  I  rushed  to  where  Coonskin 
was  waiting  with  my  outfit. 

"Make  for  the  house !"  he  exclaimed. 

A  ranch  house  stood  some  two  miles  away,  but  not  a 
soul  was  in  sight.  Still,  that  seemed  to  be  my  only  sal- 
vation ;  I  realized  a  painful  death  was  the  only  alternative. 
With  a  hundred  other  thoughts  rushing  into  my  head,  I 
ran  toward  the  distant  house.  Coonskin  began  picketing 
the  donkeys,  and  promised  to  follow. 

While  racing  madly  through  the  cacti  and  sage,  I 
thought  of  my  past,  from  three  months  upward.  Just 
when  I  had  reached  an  episode,  which  almost  ended  my 
reckless  career  at  the  age  of  ten,  I  heard  the  sound  of 
galloping  hoofs,  and,  a  moment  later,  a  young  woman 
reined  her  steed  at  my  side,  dismounted  and  gave  me  her 
horse. 

"Into  the  saddle,  quick,  man !"  she  cried.  "Mother  has 
turpentine  and  whiskey.  The  horse  will  take  the  fence 
and  ditch.  Pull  leather,  stick  to  the  saddle,  never  mind 
the  stirrups!"  and  to  the  horse — "Git  home,  Topsy! — 
Run  for  your  life,  old  girl !"  Like  a  flash,  the  big  mare 
sped  forward  with  the  velocity  of  the  wind. 

To  pull  leather,  in  the  parlance  of  the  cowboy,  means 
to  grip  the  saddle  with  the  hands.  For  a  cow-puncher 
to  pull  leather  is  deemed  disgraceful ;  for  Pod,  it  was  ex- 
cusable. Although  the  mare  fairly  flew,  she  did  not 
travel  half  fast  enough  to  suit  me.  With  reins  round 
the  saddle-horn,  I  gripped  the  saddle  with  my  left  hand 
and  sucked  the  bite  on  my  right,  but  suddenly  the  mare 
took  a  hop-skip-and-jump  over  the  fence  and  ditch;  fell 
to  her  knees,  and  threw  me  over  her  head. 

When  I  sat  up,  I  saw  a  woman  in  the  door  of  the 
house,  yet  a  half  mile  away,  no  doubt,  wondering  how  a 
maniac  happened  to  be  on  her  daughter's  steed.  The 

254 


BITTEN   BY   A   RATTLER. 

next  moment,  Coonskin  arived  all  out  of  breath,  and  as- 
sisted me  to  the  house.  Before  we  could  fully  explain  the 
situation,  the  good  woman  disappeared,  soon  to  return 
with  a  bottle  of  turpentine,  which  she  turned  nozzle  down 
over  the  snake  bite,  while  my  valet  poured  whiskey  down 
my  throat. 

They  say  it  takes  a  long  time  and  much  whiskey  to 
affect  one  bitten  by  a  rattler,  but  this  case  seemed  to  be 
an  exception;  in  a  few  moments,  my  head  was  going 
round,  and  I  prostrate  on  a  couch.  My  kind  nurse 
looked  curiously  at  the  turpentine,  and  finally  said  it  was 
queer  it  didn't  turn  green,  as  it  should  in  the  case  of  a 
rattle-snake  bite. 

A  half  hour  passed  and  still  there  was  no  change. 
Then  when  I  repeated  my  story  of  how  the  thing  hap- 
pened, she  grinned,  and  said  she  guessed  it  was  the  prairie 
dog  and  not  the  snake  that  bit  me,  after  all.  I  was  so 
dead  drunk  when  the  daughter  came  that  she  glanced  at 
me  and  asked  in  a  whisper,  "Is  he  dead  ?" 

"No,"  said  the  mother,  "and  he  ain't  going  to  die. 
We've  been  trying  to  cure  dog  bite  with  'snake  bit',,  and  I 
reckon  it'll  take  a  week  or  more  to  sober  the  man  up." 

Then  the  daughter  began  to  get  a  meal,  and  Coonskin 
went  after  my  outfit,  on  the  good  woman's  suggestion,  to 
fetch  my  animals  to  the  corral. 

It  was  not  until  morning  that  I  was  fit  to  sit  my  sad- 
dle; but  I  made  the  effort,  and  after  thanking  my  host- 
esses and  insisting  on  paying  for  the  turpentine,  we  said 
good-bye. 

Mid-day  travel,  in  the  Colorado  desert  at  that  season, 
was  enervating  in  the  extreme.  Our  straw  helmets,  be- 
ing supported  by  a  skeleton  crown,  allowed  a  free  circula- 
tion of  air  over  and  about  the  head ;  also  a  free  circula- 
tion of  buffalo  gnats,  blue  flies,  mosquitos,  flying  ants, 

255 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

grasshoppers,  and  everything  else  that  hadn't  an  excuse 
for  living.  Everything  seemed  to  be  free  in  that  country. 

The  sunrays  beat  down  mercilessly  on  the  sandy  plain, 
and  every  live  thing  seemed  to  be  in  search  of  shade  or 
water.  Once,  while  crossing  the  dry  and  cracked  bed  of 
a  stream,  I  saw  a  rabbit,  almost  dying  of  thirst,  and  I 
put  an  end  to  its  agony  with  my  six-shooter.  In  the  nar- 
row bars  of  shade  cast  by  the  fence  posts  along  the  rail- 
road, could  be  seen  occasional  birds,  standing  on  the  hot 
sand,  immovable,  with  bills  wide  open,  panting  from  the 
excessive  heat. 

We  reached  Sterling  late  that  night,  after  a  twenty- 
eight  mile  journey.  The  town  looked  dull.  Everybody 
complained  of  the  hottest  weather  for  years.  It  occurred 
to  me  that  an  awning  would  add  greatly  to  our  comfort, 
so  I  bought  the  canvas,  and  had  one  made.  Henceforth 
we  would  travel  at  night,  and  sleep  as  much  as  possible 
in  the  day  beneath  the  awning.  I  also  purchased  a  light 
folding  chair,  which,  with  our  table  and  stove,  could  easily 
be  carried  on  Skates,  the  new  donkey. 

We  pitched  camp  eight  miles  from  town,  near  a  sod 
house  and  well.  On  the  way  the  donkeys  became  ob- 
streperous, and  before  they  were  under  control,  our  only 
lantern  was  smashed.  This  stroke  of  bad  luck  was  the 
forerunner  of  other  misfortunes. 

As  I  fell  on  my  hard  bed,  expecting  to  have  a  delightful 
rest,  I  voiced  a  righteous  yell  of  pain,  and  leaped  out  of 
doors.  I  was  a  fair  imitation  of  a  porcupine.  Coonskin 
had  carelessly  pitched  the  tent  on  a  bed  of  cacti.  The 
astonished  fellow  made  profuse  apologies,  and  set  to  the 
task  of  picking  the  cactus  spears  out  of  me  by  the  flare 
of  lighted  matches.  But  for  a  week  I  suffered  the  sensa- 
tions of  sleeping  on  pins  and  needles. 

The  turtle,  Bill,  deserves  some  notice.  He  was  put  in 

256 


BITTEN   BY   A   RATTLER. 

the  center  of  a  table  at  meal  time  to  catch  flies,  but  all 
that  stupid  turtle  did  was  to  scrape  them  off  his  head  by 
drawing  it  under  his  shell.  He  disdained  the  carnivorous 
diet.  Millions  of  insects  swarmed  about  the  table,  where 
before  only  thousands  had  gathered,  attracted,  doubtless, 
by  Bill.  They  literally  covered  our  food  and  all  we  could 
safely  eat  was  flapjacks.  Holding  a  fork  against  the 
mouth,  we  could  with  lips  and  tongue  draw  a  flapjack  in 
through  the  tines,  by  which  delicate  operation  all  flies  and 
other  insects  were  scraped  off;  and  in  course  of  time  a 
fairly  good  meal  was  conveyed  to  our  stomachs.  Of 
course,  one's  success  depended  upon  the  strength  of  the 
flapjacks.  Most  of  them  stood  the  strain. 

The  afternoon  of  July  n,  we  saw  Long's  Peak,  the 
first  spur  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  in  view.  The  follow- 
ing evening  we  rode  into  Fort  Morgan.  Journeying  on, 
to  escape  the  heat  of  the  day,  we  came  at  midnight  to 
where  several  trails  crossed,  and  were  puzzled  which  to 
take. 

"Put  the  responsibility  on  the  donkeys,"  I  finally  sug- 
gested. "They've  great  instinct." 

"Good  idea,"  commented  my  valet;  "I've  often  heard 
of  horses  taking  lost  hunters  out  of  the  woods."  So 
giving  the  word,  my  caravan  resumed  the  march  in  the 
darkness,  and  went  into  camp  about  four  in  the  morning. 
When  I  arose  about  noon,  I  was  surprised  to  find  our- 
selves on  the  outskirts  of  a  village.  I  called  Coonskin, 
with  a  feeling  of  suspicion  dawning  in  my  mind. 

"The  blasted  town  looks  familiar,"  said  my  valet. 

About  that  time  a  cowboy  rode  up,  and  I  asked  him  the 
name  of  the  town. 

"Fort  Morgan,"  he  answered.  "Have  you  fellows  lost 
anything?"  Coonskin  and  I  eyed  each  other,  then  both 
gazed  thoughtfully  at  the  jackasses. 

257 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

I  was  provoked  about  the  loss  of  that  night's  journey ; 
to  think  of  our  following  our  donkey's  ears  round  an 
imaginary  race-course  in  the  desert,  some  twenty  odd 
miles,  was  not  conducive  to  a  good  temper.  Many  well- 
meaning  persons  had  advised  me  to  carry  a  compass. 
Some  day,  some  night,  they  said,  I  would  stray  from  the 
trail.  I  resolved  to  purchase  such  an  instrument  imme- 
diately on  reaching  Denver. 

We  spent  the  afternoon  enjoying  the  luxuries  of  our 
new  awning  and  camp  chairs ;  I  writing  my  article  for  the 
press,  Coonskin  reading  a  thrilling  dime  novel. 

"This  is  life,"  remarked  my  napping  valet,  as  he  rolled 
over  on  his  pillow. 

"You  bet,"  I  replied ;  "  we  know  who  we  are." 

"I  suppose  there  are  lots  of  folks  who  don't  know, 
Prof,"  he  returned;  "but  they'll  find  out  before  we  reach 
'Frisco." 

"But  Coonskin,"  I  asked,  looking  up  from  my  writing, 
"do  you  know  where  we  are?" 

I  had  no  sooner  put  the  question  than  a  whirlwind 
swept  down  upon  the  camp  and  scattered  everything 
broadcast.  Tent,  awning,  table,  chairs,  ink  and  writing 
pad,  packing  cases,  and  articles  of  all  kinds,  not  to  men- 
tion dog,  donkeys,  and  men  chased  each  other  over  the 
cacti  and  sand;  the  tent  half  inflated,  rolled  over  in  the 
scudding  wind  like  a  balloon. 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Coonskin,  gaining  a  sitting  posture 
a  rod  from  where  I  stood  on  my  head,  some  hundred  yards 
from  our  original  camp. 

"What  are  you  talking  about? — are  you  wandering?" 
I  asked. 

"I  thing  the  whole  shooting-match  has  been  wandering 
some,"  said  he,  picking  the  sand  out  of  his  eyes. 

258 


BITTEN   BY   A   RATTLER. 

It  was  long  before  we  collected  our  belongings.  I 
never  found  my  letter  for  the  press. 

Just  before  sunset  we  took  up  the  march  across  the 
broad,  rolling  plains,  which  grew  tiresome  to  look  upon 
before  darkness  set  in.  But  occasionally  a  hand-car  with 
its  sloop-rigged  sails  set  to  the  wind  would  speed  over 
the  rails  in  the  distance,  like  a  cat-boat  before  a  gale,  and 
break  the  monotony  of  the  scene.  This  mode  of  travel 
appears  to  be  characteristic  of  the  Western  plains  alone. 

We  saw  innumerable  buffalo  wallows,  great  depres- 
sions in  the  sand  where  the  vast  herds  of  buffalo  in  the 
early  days  wallowed  in  the  cool  earth  for  salt,  and  to  es- 
cape the  heat  and  pestering  gnats.  In  most  cases  these 
"wallows"  are  covered  with  cacti  and  other  desert  ver- 
dure, and  are  apt  to  upset  the  unwary  traveler  after  dark, 
unless  he  keeps  to  the  beaten  trail. 

At  a  little  before  sunset  we  arrived  at  the  great  D. 
Horse  Ranch,  where  we  watered  our  animals  and  ac- 
cepted the  ranchman's  invitation  to  supper. 


259 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 
BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

That  is  the  idea ;  for  Juliet's  a  dear,  sweet,  mere  child  of  a  girl, 
you  know,  and  she  don't  bray  like  a  jackass. — Huckleberry  Finn. 

We  did  not  tarry  at  the  D.  Horse  Ranch,  but  later  on 
pitched  camp  near  a  sheep  ranch  run  by  a  Mexican,  who 
met  us  with  a  grunt  that  nobody  understood. 

"Gee!  how  I  wish  I  could  speak  Spanish!"  remarked 
Pod,  facing  the  squatty  ranchman.  It  was  comical  to 
watch  Coonskin's  puzzled  face.  "I  once  studied  Spanish, 
buy  why  didn't  I  master  it!  Just  two  words  can  I  re- 
member: "porque" — why,  and  "manana" — to-morrow. 
But  how  can  they  help  me  ?  To  utter  them  would  be  to 
ask,  why  to-morrow?  And  there  would  be  no  sense  in 
that." 

"But  it  might  convey  the  idea,"  I  interrupted,  "that 
either  you  know  more  than  you  looked  to  know,  or  ap- 
peared to  know  more  than  you  do  know ;  and  that  would 
be  something." 

My  master  did  not  answer,  but  when  the  Mexican 
came  around  again,  he  said  to  him,  "Porque  manana?" 
The  Mexican  laughed — who  could  blame  him — and  said 
something  about  Espanola,  a  young  lady  I  never  heard 
tell  of,  and  invited  us  all  to  the  corral,  except  the  men, 
who  followed  him  to  the  house.  Nothing  like  Mexican 
hospitality  when  one  understands  the  language  as  Pod  did. 

At  first  the  Mexican  did  not  comprehend  that  we  all 
were  thirsty.  The  Professor  asked  for  a  drink  in  many 

260 


HAVOC   IN   A   CYCLONE. 

varieties  of  expression,  concluding  with  a  desperate 
'Torque  Manana?"  at  the  same  time  pointing  to  the  well. 
The  Mexican  grinned,  and  replied  in  a  peculiar  vernacu- 
lar, and  handed  him  a  huge  tin  cup.  Pod  next  inquired 
the  right  trail  to  Brighton  in  many  artistic  demonstrations 
of  verbal  inflection  and  gesticular  design,  and  wound  up 
with  a  heroic  "Porque  Manana."  The  mystified  sheep 
herder  shook  his  head  quizzically,  and  began  to  pour  out 
a  whole  tubful  of  liquid  linguistics  which  my  pedantic 
master  drained  to  the  dregs  without  discovering  their 
meaning ;  then  he  shook  hands  with  the  gracious  host  and 
gave  the  word  to  "hit  the  trail." 

"Mighty  lucky  you  understood  Spanish,  Mr.  Pod," 
Coonskin  remarked,  when  we  were  some  distance  from 
the  house.  "I'd  give  a  farm  to  speak  it  like  you." 

That  tickled  Pod's  vanity,  and  he  told  his  flattering 
valet  that  Spanish  could  not  be  learned  in  a  day,  but  per- 
haps sometime  he  would  give  him  a  few  lessons,  just  to 
prepare  him  for  an  emergency. 

That  night  we  donks  were  picketed  to  a  rickety,  barbed- 
wire  fence,  and  the  men  pitched  the  tent  close  by,  cooked, 
and  went  to  bed  early.  Seldom  had  been  so  much  care 
taken  to  prevent  my  getting  wound  up  in  the  rope  so  I 
couldn't  eat  or  lie  down.  In  the  morning  there  was  a 
surprise  for  everybody.  S'  help  me  Balaam!  if  there 
wasn't  a  circus,  then  I  never  saw  one.  We  donks  were 
completely  tangled  in  the  dismantled  wire  fence,  and  cut- 
ting up  capers  to  beat  a  side-show.  I  kept  my  eye  peeled 
on  the  tent  door  for  an  hour.  Finally  Pod  came  out, 
took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  and  then  sat  down  on  a 
cactus,  for  less  than  a  fraction  of  a  second,  to  laugh. 

I  was  proud  of  the  role  I  played  in  that  matinee. 
There  I  was,  with  a  fence  post  wired  to  each  of  my  legs, 
which  raised  my  feet  off  the  ground,  walking  about  on 

261 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

veritable  stilts,  and  close  behind  me  followed  Cheese  and 
Skates  with  a  post  yoking  their  necks  together,  like  oxen, 
while  Damfino  was  rolling  over  and  over,  unmindful  of 
the  cacti,  as  if  our  extraordinary  sport  were  for  her  special 
entertainment.  We  were  quiet,  until  Cheese  suddenly 
opened  his  mouth  and  brayed  with  glee.  I  told  him  to 
shut  up.  Says  I,  "Pod  will  think  we  got  in  this  fix  on 
purpose,  and  give  us  Hail  Columbia." 

Pod  looked  worried.  He  said  he  wondered  how  they 
could  dismount  that  giraffe — meaning  me,  no  doubt — 
without  breaking  his  legs.  I  didn't  feel  comfortable  so 
far  above  the  earth,  the  atmosphere  was  chilly,  and  the 
rarified  air  made  me  dizzy ;  but  that  remark  frightened  me. 
The  trick  was,  at  last,  accomplished.  Coonskin  held  my 
fore-stilts,  while  Pod  braced  his  feet,  and  with  a  violent 
push  threw  me  over  on  my  side  on  a  pile  of  blankets  and 
pillows.  Well,  let  me  tell  you,  my  donkey  friends,  it 
required  two  hours  to  free  us  from  the  fence-posts  and 
wire.  After  that,  both  men  busied  themselves  like  Red 
Cross  Nurses.  (Skates  said  they  were  cross  nurses  of 
some  sort),  and  bandaged  up  our  cuts  and  scratches, 
then,  after  breakfast,  they  saddled  and  packed  us  for  the 
day's  journey.  I  never  want  another  experience  like  that. 

On  Thursday  night,  I  think  (I  ate  up  Pod's  only  calen- 
dar), we  again  wandered  from  the  trail,  and  about  two 
o'clock  camped  near  a  cottonwood  tree  which  seemed  to 
indicate  we  were  near  water.  Although  I  was  awfully 
dry,  I  had  to  wait  till  morning.  It  was  pleasant  to  be 
lulled  to  sleep  by  the  rustling  of  leaves  (and  it  was  consol- 
ing to  know  something  besides  us  donks  had  to  rustle), 
yet  there  we  were  in  the  boundless  desert.  Don's  barking 
awoke  us  early.  A  ranchman  rode  up  and  said  we  would 
find  plenty  of  water  yonder  at  the  well,  the  only  water 
for  many  miles  around ;  then  he  rode  away. 

262 


HAVOC   IN   A   CYCLONE. 

There  was  one  long  row  of  cottonwood  trees  hun- 
dreds of  feet  apart,  stretching  for  a  mile  or  two  across 
the  desert,  as  if  planted  by  birds  fifty  years  ago. 

Pod  took  us  empty  donks  and  canteens  over  to  the  well. 
That  was  the  novelest  thing  I  ever  saw ;  and  the  water 
was  the  coolest  I  ever  tasted.  An  iron  wheel  turned  in  a 
cog  and  drove  a  piston-rod  down  a  deep  well,  the  power 
being  furnished  by  a  meek-looking  horse  which  walked 
round  the  pump  in  circus  fashion,  thinking  he  was  the 
whole  show,  and  pulled  a  sort  of  walking-beam  that  turned 
the  cog-wheel.  There  the  ranchman  and  his  big  small 
boy  rode  every  morning  many  miles  from  home  to  pump 
water  for  their  cattle,  which  ate  (they  evidently  had  eaten 
everything  in  sight)  during  the  day,  and  chewed  their  cud 
at  night  in  the  cottonwood  shade. 

That  morning,  when  several  miles  nearer  our  goal,  a 
stiff  wind  introduced  itself  and  increased  in  velocity  until 
such  speed  was  attained  that  the  men  had  to  stop  travel- 
ing and  tie  the  whole  outfit  to  the  picket-pins  driven  in  the 
ground.  That  gale  beat  the  tornado  on  the  shore  of  Lake 
Erie,  and  the  cyclone  near  Sterling.  We  donks  had  to  lie 
down  with  our  backs  to  the  wind,  for  Damfino,  not  think- 
ing, lay  the  other  way  at  first,  and  the  wind  blew  into  her 
mouth  so  fast  she  swelled  up  twice  her  natural  size.  She 
was  so  full  of  air  that  she  arose  and  turned  around,  be- 
fore being  able  to  lie  down  again. 

Pod  said  it  was  a  good  time  to  write  his  letter  for  the 
paper.  So  he  hitched  his  shoulders  to  ropes  tied  to  picket- 
pins  about  five  feet  apart,  and  sat  in  a  camp-stool,  and, 
facing  the  gale,  laid  his  writing  pad  on  the  wind,  and 
finished  his  article  in  fine  style. 

When  I  asked  him  how  the  wind  could  be  so  strong  as 
to  brace  up  both  the  pad  and  his  story,  he  said  he  was 
writing  in  a  lighter  vein  than  usual. 

263 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

We  were  in  sight  of  Brighton  next  morning  when  a 
strange  accident  happened  to  Pod.  We  were  approaching 
a  field  of  grain  on  an  irrigated  ranch  when,  suddenly,  he 
was  struck  on  the  head  by  a  mastodon  grasshopper  and 
knocked  senseless  out  of  the  saddle.  At  once  Don  chased 
the  creature  and  headed  him  off,  while  Coonskin  lassoed 
him  and  bound  him  on  Damfino.  We  took  the  wonder 
to  Denver.  There  Pod  put  the  thing  in  a  bottle  of  alcohol, 
but  it  hadn't  been  there  more  than  a  half  hour  when  it 
kicked  out  the  bottom,  and  almost  upset  a  street  car  in 
trying  to  escape.  Again  the  grasshopper  was  captured, 
then  poisoned  and  skinned,  and  the  bones  were  expressed 
to  the  Smithsonian  Museum. 

About  one  o'clock  we  left  the  line  of  the  B.  &  M.  rail- 
road, and  cut  across  the  plain  six  miles  to  the  Union 
Pacific,  which  we  had  left  on  the  previous  week.  Then 
we  began  to  descend  into  the  verdant  valley  of  the 
Platte.  Great  fields  of  grain  waved  in  the  breeze  on 
either  hand.  The  song  of  the  reaper  was  cheering,  the 
glistening  snow  on  the  distant  Rockies,  cooling. 

At  last  our  caravan  ambled  into  Brighton.  It  im- 
pressed me  as  a  pretty  town ;  after  crossing  a  two  hun- 
dred mile  desert,  I  was  in  condition  to  compliment  any 
sort  of  a  place.  That  night  we  traveled  ten  miles  and 
camped  near  the  Nine  Mile  House,  where,  next  morning, 
we  were  disappointed  not  to  obtain  breakfast. 

Beautiful,  far-famed  Denver  loomed  up  on  the  distant 
plain.  The  smoke  from  her  smelters  curled  on  high,  a 
dusky  sign  of  prosperity.  We  breakfasted  three  miles 
nearer  the  city,  and  at  two  P.  M.  our  picturesque  outfit 
strode  up  Seventeenth  street  and  anchored  in  front  of  the 
Albany  Hotel.  Denver  at  last ! 


264 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

BY   PYE   POD. 

At  the  head  of  the  procession  strode  the  four  heralds.  Silently 
they  marched,  in  silence  the  populace  received  them.  The  spec- 
tacle reminded  very  old  men  of  the  day  the  great  Axaya  was 
born  in  mournful  pomp  to  Chapultepec.—  The  Fair  God. 

When  I  had  taken  a  bird's-eye  view  of  Denver,  and 
visited  many  of  its  handsome  streets  and  buildings,  and 
met  its  hospitable  citizens,  I  dubbed  it  one  of  the  most 
attractive  cities. 

One  of  the  first  to  greet  me  was  a  member  of  the  Jack- 
sonian  Club,  who  invited  me  to  attend  a  lawn  party  to  be 
given  at  the  home  of  a  fellow  member.  The  grounds 
were  illuminated  with  Japanese  lanterns  and  a  platform 
was  erected  for  speech-making,  while  indoors  were  served 
refreshments.  In  the  midst  of  the  pleasant  proceedings  a 
gentle  rain  frightened  everybody  into  the  house,  where 
dancing  closed  the  festivities.  Of  course,  every  pretty 
girl  wanted  to  dance  with  Pod. 

Sunday  seemed  to  be  the  accepted  day  for  sight-seeing. 
The  "Seeing  Denver"  car  (electric)  made  two  twenty- 
five  mile  trips  a  day,  threading  the  more  attractive  por- 
tions of  the  city  and  suburbs  and  giving  the  passengers  a 
splendid  idea  of  the  beauties  and  possibilities  of  Denver. 
Each  car  was  manned  by  a  director,  who  clearly  de- 
scribed all  points  of  interest  en  route. 

Finally,  the  car  was  stopped  on  the  heights  overlook- 
ing Clear  Creek  Valley,  where,  in  1858,  Gregory,  a  North 

265 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

Carolina  prospector,  discovered  gold  in  quartz  and  proved 
his  theory  that  all  placer  ore  came  from  a  mother  lode. 
People  in  the  East,  hearing  that  gold  could  be  found  here 
in  quartz,  hurried  to  the  spot,  resolved  to  be  contented  if 
they  could  only  find  it  in  pints.  While  many  were  dis- 
appointed, within  a  year  one  hundred  and  seventy  quartz 
mills  were  erected,  and  in  1860  Colorado's  gold  output 
amounted  to  $4,000,000. 

The  Colorado  farmer  raises  everything  in  the  fruit  and 
vegetable  line  that  can  be  produced  in  the  East.  Through 
the  system  of  irrigation  the  soil  is  brought  to  such  a 
state  of  production  that  one  farmer  near  Denver  was 
reaping  a  revenue  of  $5,000  a  year  from  a  twenty-acre 
plot. 

"One  of  our  best  crops  is  tomatoes,"  said  our  guide, 
with  the  view  of  enlightening  some  possible  investor. 
"There,  you  can  see  in  the  distance,  is  one  of  our  largest 
canneries.  It  cans  tomatoes  only.  All  the  tomatoes  they 
can  are  raised  around  Denver,  and  all  the  tomatoes  not 
consumed  in  the  city  are  sent  to  this  cannery  to  be 
canned.  They  raise  all  they  can  and  what  they  can't  raise 
they  can't  can.  They  eat  all  they  can,  and  all  they  can't 
eat  they  can.  Moreover,  all  they  can't  can  they  eat,  and 
what  they  eat  they  can't  can.  All  canned  tomatoes  they 
can  and  cannot  eat  they  ship  to  those  who  can't  visit 
Denver  to  eat  all  they  can.  If  you  can  visit  the  cannery 
and  see  them  can  all  they  can  and  eat  what  they  can't 
can,  and  can't  eat  a  can  yourselves,  you  then  only  can 
understand  why  it  is  they  can't  eat  what  they  can  and 
can't  can  what  they  eat.  Can  you  not?"  When  he  had 
finished  three  women  cried. 

Later  on  the  journey  the  car  was  stopped  in  a  different 
quarter  of  the  suburbs,  where  several  got  off  to  pluck 
wild  flowers.  In  the  course  of  our  tour  many  attractive 

266 


TWO    PRETTY   DAIRY   MAIDS. 

buildings  were  pointed  out,  among  them  the  Consump- 
tive's Home,  erected  by  philanthropists  of  the  East,  and 
the  several  smelting  mills,  one  of  which  boasts  of  a 
chimney  four  hundred  feet  in  height,  the  tallest  on  the 
continent.  While  the  ladies  were  gathering  wild  flowers 
I  was  persuaded  to  perpetrate  a  practical  joke  suggested 
by  two  jovial  Johnny  Bulls.  I  had  become  quite  chatty 
with  their  party.  They  had  the  impression  that  I 
was  a  cowboy,  and  when  they  discovered  their  error  they 
proposed  I  should  jostle  a  fellow  countryman  of  theirs  as 
soon  as  they  could  decoy  him  off  the  car,  they  claiming 
that  he  still  believed  me  a  real  cow-puncher  out  for  a 
holiday.  They  said  it  was  his  first  trip  to  America,  and 
that  he  had  frequently  expressed  a  curiosity  to  see  one  of 
those  wild  men  of  the  plains.  On  promises  of  their  sup- 
port in  case  of  offense  being  taken,  I  chuckled  and 
awaited  my  chance. 

Presently  the  man  was  persuaded  to  pick  a  wild  rose, 
and  as  he  was  about  to  pass  me  I  backed  roughly  against 
him,  almost  sending  him  off  his  feet.  When  he  had  re- 
gained his  equilibrium  and  was  on  the  point  of  rebuking 
me,  I  turned  furiously  upon  him:  "Say,  you  foreign 
tenderfoot,"  I  said,  "you  got  a  pre-emption  on  the  whole 
earth?  If  so,  just  fence  it  in.  Don't  yer  brush  me  that 
way  agin,  or  I'll  show  yer  how  we  trim  moustaches  out 
in  this  country  when  our  razors  ain't  sharp.  Under- 
stand?" 

As  I  uttered  these  words  I  put  my  hand  on  my  hip- 
pocket.  My  sombrero  was  tilted,  and  the  attitude  I 
struck  would  have  amused  any  real  cowboy.  The  aston- 
ished Englishman,  red  in  the  face,  edged  away  in  silence 
and  eyed  me  narrowly. 

"Turn  your  lamps  the  other  way,  or  I'll  shoot  off  yer 
eyebrows!"  I  shouted. 

267 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

At  once  the  innocent  butt  of  our  ungentlemanly  joke 
ventured  to  apologize  for  the  carelessness  that  was  not 
his,  when  a  peal  of  laughter  from  behind  told  plainly 
that  the  joke  was  off.  I  turned  to  see  everybody  in  a  fit 
of  laughter;  I  now  began  to  feel  embarrassed,  and  had 
not  my  confederate  immediately  explained  the  case  and 
introduced  me  to  their  imposed-upon  comrade,  I  cer- 
tainly would  have  felt  very  awkward.  As  it  was,  the 
tourist  laughed  heartily  at  the  joke,  complimented  me  on 
my  art  in  acting  and  gave  me  a  cordial  handshake.  At 
our  journey's  end  I  was  introduced  to  all  the  ladies,  and 
induced  to  pose  for  their  cameras,  after  which  I  departed 
with  the  well-wishes  of  all. 

I  must  not  overlook  an  amusing  incident  of  the  trip. 
One  of  the  passengers  was  an  Irishman,  who  caused 
much  merriment  by  a  stroke  of  wit,  or  a  blunder,  just  as 
the  car  stopped  in  front  of  the  City  Hall. 

"This  lovely  park  which  you  see,"  said  the  director, 
"has  been  brought  to  its  present  beautiful  condition  by 
levying  a  tax  of  one  mill  on  all  property  owners.  The 
burden,  you  see,  was  light  for  each  person,  and  just  to 
all." 

"Light  was  it!"  the  Emerald-Islander  exclaimed.  "Be- 
gorry!  mills  must  be  dom  plintiful  in  these  parts,  whin 
every  mon  is  willin'  to  give  uup  a  mill  for  an  interist  in 
a  parruk.  Be  dad!  it  must  ha'  been  rough  on  th'  mon 
that  owned  but  one  mill.  It  was  thot!"  Whereupon  our 
erudite  guide  politely  dissertated  on  the  great  difference 
in  mills,  to  the  amusement  of  the  English  party  and  the 
Hibernian's  satisfaction. 

Before  leaving  Denver  I  found  it  advisable  to  add  con- 
siderable to  my  traveling  equipment.  I  ordered  a  tin 
canteen  from  my  own  design,  to  hold  a  gallon  of  water, 
and  within  it  was  fashioned  a  receptacle  for  holding  two 

268 


TWO    PRETTY   DAIRY   MAIDS. 

pounds  of  butter.  Its  value  was  constantly  appreciated 
when  crossing  the  deserts  where  we  were  enabled  to 
carry  butter,  and  an  extra  quantity  of  drinking  water 
which  was  kept  cool  by  wrapping  the  canteen  with  cloth 
and  canvas  and  keeping  them  in  a  moist  condition.  I 
also  purchased  a  large  basket-covered  demijohn  of  port 
wine  (for  medicinal  purposes),  an  extra  pack-saddle  and 
camp  supplies. 

Although  that  altitude  of  5,000  feet  was  quite  invigor- 
ating, the  sun  at  that  season  was  unusually  warm,  and  I 
intended  to  enjoy  as  much  camp  life  as  possible.  We  took 
a  southerly  course  towards  Pike's  Peak,  threading  the 
villages  of  Littleton,  Castle  Rock,  Sedalia  and  Monu- 
ment, and  the  city  of  Colorado  Springs.  The  scenic 
beauties  of  Colorado  became  more  manifest  every  day. 

Sunday  afternoon  I  observed  in  the  southwest  a  dark 
cloud  draw  a  threatening  hood  over  that  giant  discovery 
of  1806  by  Col.  Zebulon  M.  Pike,  and  I  decided  to  camp 
in  the  vicinity  of  a  dairy  ranch.  Anticipating  a  shower, 
I  rode  Skates,  my  fastest  donkey,  to  the  house  with  can- 
teen and  pail,  leaving  Coonskin  to  unpack,  pitch  tent, 
and  build  a  wood-pile  under  shelter. 

On  approaching  the  house,  I  detected  a.  pretty  dairy- 
maid in  the  doorway.  I  endeavored  to  dismount  from 
my  asinine  steed  with  grace,  but  the  picture  so  unbal- 
anced me  that  I  caught  a  foot  in  a  stirrup  and  fell  heels 
over  appetite  on  the  ground  at  my  charmer's  very  feet, 
much  to  my  embarrassment  and  her  amusement. 

"Can  you  spare  me  a  quart  of  milk,  Miss?"  I  inquired, 
lifting  my  hat.  She  smiled.  Then,  fearing  lest  I  might 
have  created  the  impression  of  begging,  I  asked;  "can 
you  sell  some?  I  mean  to  pay  for  it,  of  course." 

My  words  seemed  to  break  her  spell,  and  she  replied 
sweetly,  "We  have  two  kinds — cream  and  skimmed  milk." 

269 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

And  her  £yes  sparkled.  I  caught  my  breath  and  gave 
her  a  chance  to  lose  hers.  "Per-per-perhaps  you  might 
mix  the  two  safely— mightn't  you?"  I  now  felt  the  crisis 
coming,  and  twisted  myself  nervously.  The  maid 
laughed.  It  quieted  my  nerves. 

"But,"  she  returned,  "you  see,  the  cream  is  all  en- 
gaged, and — and  I  would  not  like  to  sell  you  the  skimmed 
milk,  because — because  we  feed  that  to  the  hogs." 

I  smiled  now  and  tried  to  answer.  "Well,  what  is  good 
enough  for  hogs  ought — ,"  and  I  hesitated,  feeling  I  was 
getting  things  twisted;  but  she  came  to  the  rescue  nobly. 

"What  you  mean  is,  what  is  good  enough  for  you 
ought  to  be  good  enough  for  hogs,  eh?" 

"Thank  you,"  I  said.  "What  you  say  goes,"  and  I 
handed  her  the  pail,  which  she  accepted  with  a  shy 
courtesy. 

As  she  hurried  to  the  spring  house,  I  watched  her 
admiringly  until  foosteps  behind  caused  me  to  turn 
around.  Behold!  there  was  another  young  lady,  tall  and 
becomingly  gowned,  even  prettier  than  the  other.  The 
softness  of  her  brown,  lustrous  eyes  bespoke  the  tender- 
ness in  her  nature.  Even  Don  interpreted  this  when  she 
patted  his  head  and  observed:  "What  a  nice  dog  you 
have!" 

The  expression  "nice  dog"  was  very  familiar  to  Don, 
and  they  were  no  sooner  uttered  than  the  huge  dog 
arose  to  the  occasion  by  planting  his  fore-paws  against 
the  lady's  breast  and  attempting  to  steal  a  kiss. 

The  shock  would  have  upset  her  completely  if  I  had 
not  caught  her  in  my  arms.  It  was  therefore  under  some- 
what embarrassing  circumstances  that  the  dairy  maid 
witnessed  the  embrace — embarrassing  to  all  save  the  dog. 
Explanations  will  only  make  matters  worse,  I  thought, 

270 


TWO    PRETTY   DAIRY   MAIDS. 

so  I  took  the  pail  and  kept  mum,  though  I  know  I  looked 
anything  but  innocent. 

Business  over,  we  conversed  until  it  began  to  sprinkle, 
and  then,  after  accepting  the  ladies'  invitation  to  spend 
the  evening  with  them,  I  cantered  back  to  camp. 

"I  feared  you  had  gone  on  to  'Frisco,"  said  Coonskin; 
"I'm  dying  for  a  drink  of  water." 

Indeed,  I  had  forgotten  to  fill  the  canteen — all  on  ac- 
count of  those  charming  girls.  "I  declare,  Coonskin,"  I 
explained,  "I  had  such  a  time  persuading  the  folks  to  sell 
me  a  little  milk  that  I  never  thought  of  water.  I'll  hurry 
back  for  it."  And  not  giving  my  companion  time  to  an- 
ticipate me,  or  stopping  to  mount  a  donkey,  I  did  the 
errand  on  foot. 

That  evening  we  passed  a  pleasant  hour  with  "wine, 
women  and  song,"  and  departed  with  another  invitation 
to  a  fish  and  game  dinner  next  day,  if  I  would  tarry  and 
provide  trout  and  birds.  Of  course,  I  tarried.  Coon- 
skin accompanied  me  into  the  canyon  next  morning  with 
rod  and  line,  and  in  the  afternoon  with  gun  and  bag.  By 
five  he  had  caught  a  nice  mess  of  trout  and  I  had  shot  a 
young  jack-rabbit. 

It  was  a  delicious  repast  that  was  served  us  by  those 
New  England  girls.  We  ate  fish  till  their  tails  stuck 
out  of  our  mouths.  The  bread  tasted  like  angel's  food, 
and  the  beans  were  well  done,  in  spite  of  the  fact  it  re- 
quired a  whole  day  to  cook  beans  in  that  altitude. 

I  smacked  my  lips  and  said  to  myself:  "I'll  eat  heart- 
ily now,  for  it'll  be  long  before  I'll  get  another  dinner 
like  this." 

On  the  way  to  the  Springs  next  day  I  suggested  to 
Coonskin  that  we  climb  the  Peak  and  see  the  sun  rise. 

"Why,  is  sunrise  up  there  any  finer  than  it  is  down 
here?"  he  inquired. 

271 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

I  thought  he  was  making  a  mental  calculation  of  the 
number  of  steps,  and  labored  breaths,  and  obsolete  words 
the  ascent  would  require. 

"Certainly,"  I  said,  "the  reflections  to  be  seen  from 
that  altitude  are  more  beautiful  and  varied  than  from  the 
plains." 

"They're  more  beautiful  perhaps,  but  I've  been  riding 
a  mule  over  three  months  now,  and  my  reflections  are 
about  as  varied  as  anything  could  make  'em." 

My  donkey  party  reached  Colorado  Springs  in  time 
for  dinner. 


272 


"Independence 
Pass.    .    .    one  of 
the  loftiest  of  the 
Continental  Di- 
vide." 


"Trail  to 
Florisant.' 


"Two  days  of  hard 
climbing  to  cross 
W cs tern  Pass." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

The  Professor,  scorning  to  waste  shoe  leather  and  economize 
francs,  began  the  ascent  on  a  mule  steered  by  a  woman  holding 
on  to  the  beast's  tail. — Easter  on  the  Riviera. 

A  curious  proceeding  held  my  rapt  attention  as  we 
neared  Petersburg,  a  suburb  of  Denver.  At  the  ter- 
minus of  a  horse-car  line  I  observed  a  car  approaching 
us  down-grade,  with  a  horse  on  its  rear  platform.  As 
soon  as  the  car  stopped  at  the  station  the  horse  stepped 
off  on  a  platform  and  took  his  place  in  front  of  the  car, 
ready  to  haul  it  up-grade  again  and  earn  another  ride.  I 
did  not  have  the  chance  to  ask  the  horse  how  he  enjoyed 
it,  but  I  would  willingly  have  exchanged  places  with  him. 

Next  morning,  to  my  surprise,  Coonskin  was  the  first 
to  rise.  Our  camp  was  near  Littleton,  on  the  banks  of 
a  small  stream,  and  here  at  early  dawn  that  ambitious 
youth  gathered  a  panful  of  glittering  wet  sand,  and 
rushed  into  the  tent  with  it,  almost  out  of  breath. 

"Look  here,  Pod!"  he  called,  excitedly,  "see  the  strike 
I've  made!  The  river  bottom  is  yellow  with  gold!" 

Then  I  heard  Pod  say,  "Rich,  I  should  say!  Funny 
this  placer  hasn't  been  discovered  before  now." 

"Let's  file  a  claim,"  said  Coonskin,  "we  can  make  a 
million  in  six  months." 

"Let's!"  the  Professor  exclaimed.  As  soon  as  break- 
fast was  over  both  tenderfeet  were  trying  their  luck  at 
panning  gold.  A  cabin  stood  not  far  away,  and  present- 

273 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

ly  there  issued  from  it  an  old  man  who  approached  the 
argonauts,  and  sat  on  a  log  to  watch  them. 

"Your  first  experience  at  placer  mining?"  the  stranger 
observed. 

"For  an  instant  both  men  looked  confused.  I  could 
see  that  Coonskin  didn't  want  to  reveal  his  newly  dis- 
covered fortune  by  the  way  he  dumped  his  sand  and 
said  nothing.  But  Pod  held  on  to  a  frying-pan  full  of 
sand  with  one  hand,  and  reached  for  his  revolver  with 
the  other  to  defend  his  claim. 

"Well,  boys,"  observed  the  native,  laughing,  "you're 
goin'  through  jest  what  all  tenderfeet  do  when  they  first 
strike  these  parts — try  to  wash  gold  dust  out  of  mica. 
All  the  streams  out  here  're  filled  with  them  glist'ning 
particles,  but  recollect,  boys,  all  what  glitters  ain't  gold. 
That  you've  got's  called  'fool's  gold.'  " 

It  was  plain  that  Pod  was  disappointed,  but  the 
stranger  gave  him  some  good  advice,  and  a  large  Colo- 
rado diamond  for  a  keepsake,  then  strolled  away,  leaving 
two  sadder  but  wiser  men. 

The  road  to  Colorado  Springs  was  a  popular  thor- 
oughfare for  bicyclists.  Saturday  afternoon,  as  we 
donks  began  the  ascent  of  a  long,  steep,  and  winding  in- 
cline, a  din  of  voices  and  a  whir  of  wheels  suddenly 
sounded  ahead,  and  a  party  of  fifty  or  more  young  men 
and  women  in  gala  attire  came  speeding  down  toward 
us.  As  quickly  as  possible  we  donks  turned  out  to  the 
right.  I  think  the  bicyclists  must  have  been  English, 
for  they  steered  to  the  left.  In  a  minute  "  it  was  all  off." 

It  happened  that  the  leader  of  the  wheel  brigade  saw 
us  donks  too  late  and  tried  to  save  himself  by  turning 
suddenly  to  his  right.  Result:  Tire  off  and  man  off. 
Sequel:  A  wild  rough-and-tumble  conglomeration  of 
sexes,  as  his  followers  mixed  up  with  our  party.  Bi- 

274 


DONKS   CLIMB   PIKE'S   PEAK. 

cycles,  donkeys,  men,  women,  lunch  baskets,  packs,  hats, 
petticoats  and  cameras  were  distributed  in  all  directions. 
The  cries  and  shrieks  of  the  bruised  and  frightened  to- 
gether with  the  confusion  of  the  wreckage  so  terrified 
us  donks  that  as  soon  as  we  could  pick  ourselves  up  we 
reared  on  our  haunches,  and  cavorted,  and  brayed,  and 
so  help  me  Balaam!  it  was  the  worst  mix-up  I  was  ever 
in. 

When  every  man  had  assisted  some  one  else's  girl  to 
her  equilibrium,  a  council  of  war  assembled  to  adjust 
grievances  and  repair  machines;  but  the  proceedings  did 
not  interest  the  Professor,  for  he  hustled  us  donks  up  hill 
and  out  of  sight  as  quickly  as  possible.  The  din  of  voices 
soon  sounded  in  the  distance  like  a  swarm  of  yellow- 
jackets. 

Colorado  City  was  a  gambling  resort  lying  between 
Colorado  Springs  and  Manitou.  Our  stop  there  was  all 
too  brief.  While  Pod  and  Coonskin  were  at  feed  we 
donks  stole  down-street  to  watch  a  "play."  That  was 
the  time  I  regretted  having  eaten  the  five  dollar  bill  back 
in  Iowa,  for  three  times  in  succession  the  roulette  ball 
dropped  on  my  colors,  and  by  compounding  the  prin- 
cipal and  interest  each  time  I  could  have  made  a  beautiful 
scoop  which  might  have  given  us  donks  a  high  old  time. 

Thence  onward  Pike's  Peak  was  the  chief  topic  of  dis- 
cussion. To  begin  with,  Pike's  Peak  is  the  largest 
mountain  of  its  size  in  the  world.  Cats  can't  live  ten  min- 
utes on  the  summit  before  going  crazy,  and  dogs  even 
lose  their  bark  at  the  timber-line.  I  concurred  with  Pod 
that  it  would  be  a  big  feat  to  climb  the  Peak.  On  the 
other  hand,  Cheese  and  Skates  demurred  from  our 
opinion.  Skates  positively  declined  to  leave  the  stable, 
and  Cheese  backed  her  up  by  putting  both  fore  feet  in 
the  manger.  Damfino  stood  by  Pod  and  me.  She  ar- 

275 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

gued  that  when  one  has  climbed  to  an  elevation  of  14,- 
147  feet  above  sea-level  he  is  likely  to  feel  a  blamed  sight 
nearer  heaven  than  he  is  ever  apt  to  be  again.  The  re- 
sult was  that  Damfino  and  I  alone  accompanied  the  men 
on  that  adventuresome  trip. 

Everything  went  well  until  we  struck  the  cog  track  in 
Engleman's  Canyon.  It  was  the  first  experience  for  us 
donks  in  "hitting  the  ties."  I  did  not  fancy  the  route  at 
all.  But  Pod,  having  seen  a  boy  ride  a  native  burro  up 
the  track,  resolved  to  do  no  less.  The  first  half  mile  was 
not  steep,  and  the  men  rode  us  donks;  but  when  we 
caught  up  with  a  party  of  men  and  women  making  the 
ascent,  an  ambitious  boy  grabbed  my  tail  and  allowed 
me  the  privilege  of  dragging  him  a  hundred  yards  before 
the  Prof  discovered  him,  and  dismounted.  How  I 
thanked  the  boy  for  his  thoughtfulness. 

Damfino  lagged  behind.  She  had  changed  her  mind. 
The  consequence  was,  we  donks  were  driven  ahead,  and 
Coonskin  no  sooner  hit  Damfino  a  whack  with  the  butt 
of  his  six-shooter,  then  she  began  to  pace  so  fast  none 
of  us  could  keep  up  with  her.  When  we  came  to  the 
steep  25  per  cent,  grade  the  men  were  winded;  not  ^n 
we  donks.  The  men  called  to  us,  but  we  would  not  listen. 
They  threw  stones  at  us,  and  we  quickened  our  gait. 
The  men  couldn't  run  up-grade  to  save  their  lives,  where- 
as mountain  climbing  finds  a  donkey  in  his  true  element. 
"Ain't  this  fun!"  exclaimed  Damfino.  "Never  had  such 
a  picnic!"  I  added.  Well,  Pod  walked  half  the  way  from 
New  York  and  prided  himself  on  walking,  and  Coon- 
skin  had  won  medals  for  sprinting:  so  it  looked  to  us  a 
huge  joke,  and  we  just  brayed. 

The  next  instant  a  locomotive  bell  sounded  ahead,  and 
I  saw  a  train  approaching  from  round  a  bend.  We  felt 
that  we  had  the  right  of  way,  and  were  much  put  out 

276 


DONKS   CLIMB   PIKE'S   PEAK. 

when  the  train  refused  to  stop.  We  would  not  get  off 
the  track;  it  would  be  contrary  to  the  nature  of  first- 
class  donkeys  to  do  such  a  thing. 

Say,  what  wonderfully  powerful  things  steam  engines 
are!  We  got  it  in  our  heads  that  we  could  stop  the  train, 
if  we  didn't  push  it  off  the  track.  You  just  ought  to  have 
seen  us  pitch  headlong  down  the  bank  of  the  canyon  into 
the  foaming  torrent.  It  was  a  mighty  plunge  we  made, 
I  can  tell  you.  Before  we  rose  to  the  surface  the  car 
stopped,  and  many  of  the  passengers  got  off.  The  banks 
of  the  pool  were  so  steep  we  couldn't  climb  out,  and  we 
had  to  swim  and  tread  water  to  keep  from  drowning. 
Damfino  brayed  like  a  lunatic,  I  spouted  like  a  geyser, 
and  great  excitement  reigned  among  the  tourists. 

Evidently  "nothing  was  doing"  for  our  immediate  re- 
lief. The  engineer  was  loudly  refreshing  Pod's  memory 
that  he  had  no  right  on  the  railroad  bed  with  his  donk- 
eys, and  the  female  passengers  gesticulated  wildly  and 
condoled  with  Damfino  and  me  for  the  deep  predica- 
ment we  were  in.  One  facetious  fellow  asked  if  we  jack- 
asses were  Baptists,  and  the  Professor  told  him  he  didn't 
know  what  denomination  we  formerly  adhered  to,  but 
he  believed  that  we  were  skeptics  now. 

Presently  our  masters  began  search  for  ropes  and 
straps.  Alas!  all  of  them  had  been  left  behind.  I  was 
now  through  with  coughing,  but  still  weak  and  out  of 
breath,  while  Damfino  pumped  logarithms  of  abuse  at 
the  cog  train  and  exhorted  me  to  keep  swimming — ad- 
vice entirely  unnecessary.  Finally  the  car  steamed  down 
to  Manitou,  and  the  sympathetic  occupants  called  back 
that  they  would  send  aid. 

Coonskin  was  first  to  come  to  his  senses.  Said  he, 
"I  can  run,  I'll  run  to  the  village  for  help;"  and  away  he 
went  to  beat  the  cars.  This  expedient  awoke  the 

277 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

Prof/s  dormant  mind  to  an  idea,  and  he  began  to  roll 
rocks  into  the  Pool.  At  the  same  time  he  yelled  come- 
thing  at  us,  but  I  couldn't  wait  to  listen,  for  I  ducked  un- 
der water  in  the  nick  of  time  to  dodge  a  half-ton  boulder. 
It  came  within  an  inch  of  knocking  all  the  bad  character 
out  of  Damfino's  head,  and  completely  submerged  us 
both.  After  that  Pod  was  more  careful,  and  instead  of 
rolling  one  giant  stone  he  sent  two  middle-weights  down 
the  bank  in  a  manner  to  make  us  dive.  I  concluded  Pod 
had  gone  daft. 

"For  Balaam's  sake!  what  you  trying  to  do  up " 

I  brayed  loudly,  but  scarcely  finished  when  I  came  with- 
in an  ace  of  "passing  in  my  chips,"  as  a  gigantic  pebble 
of  the  first  water  whizzed  between  our  heads.  Pod  called 
back,  "I'm  lifting  the  bpttom  of  the  pool  so  you  two  can 
crawl  out."  I  was  astonished  at  such  inventive  faculty. 
A  wonder  we  donks  survived  to  tell  it.  Rolling  stones 
may  gather  no  moss,  but  they  need  a  lot  of  looking 
after. 

It  seemed  house  before  Coonskin  returned.  By  this 
time  I  had  found  a  footing  so  I  could  rest  with  my  head 
out  of  water. 

"Why  were  you  gone  so  long?"  Pod  asked,  as  he  sat 
himself  on  a  rail  to  rest  his  windpipe. 

"Well,"  said  the  winded  man,  adjusting  a  lariat,  "I 
hunted  all  over  Manitou  before  I  found  the  superintend- 
ent of  the  waterworks." 

"But  what  on  earth  did  you  want  of  him?" 

"I  told  him  of  the  fix  of  our  donks,  and  asked  him  to 
change  the  course  of  the  stream  till  we  could  get  them 
out  of  the  pool." 

"You  idiot!  And  what  did  he  say?" 

"Oh,  he  was  civil  enough;  said  he,  'If  you  would  like 
278 


DONKS    CLIMB    PIKE'S    PEAK. 

to  have  the  mountain  moved  a  little  to  one  side  I  will 
have  it  put  on  jackscrews  without  delay/  " 

Now  it  nettled  me  to  listen  to  such  nonsense  while 
Damfino  and  I  were  refrigerating  in  ice  water,  and  I 
brayed  to  the  jester  above:  "Say  there,  you  old  fool,  if 
you  had  only  thought  to  have  him  pump  the  water  out 
of  the  canyon  above  us  you  might  have  furnished  a  little 
dry  humor  that  we  would  have  appreciated." 

The  lariat  was  found  to  be  of  little  service,  but  soon  a 
couple  of  tourists  arrived  on  the  scene  and  assisted  the 
two  with  their  contract  to  raise  the  devil,  as  well  as  the 
bed  of  the  torrent,  and,  at  length,  to  extricate  us  water- 
soaked  donks  from  our  unhappy  predicament.  Then  we 
were  taken  to  the  stable,  rubbed  down,  and  put  to  bed. 


279 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

BY  PYE  POD. 

It  is  the  property  of  great  men  to  rise  to  the  height  of  great 
events. — Victor  Hugo. 

The  city  of  Colorado  Springs  possesses  many  attrac- 
tions, and  is  growing  in  population  and  wealth.  Here 
is  a  good-sized  collection  of  pretty  homes,  built  on  wide 
and  well-shaded  streets,  where  reside  beside  the  health 
hunter  of  independent  means  the  mining  king,  the 
wealthy  ranch  owner,  the  Eastern  capitalist,  and  the 
English  tourist  or  speculator. 

Friday  morning  we  entered  that  picturesque  Swiss- 
like  hamlet  of  Manitou  with  flying  colors.  The  summer 
tourists  were  either  lounging  on  the  broad  verandas  of 
the  hotels  or  assembling  for  burro  trips  to  the  Garden  of 
the  Gods  and  other  famous  retreats  in  the  mountains. 

Coonskin  and  I  rode  our  favorite  mounts  to  the  prin- 
cipal hotels,  Hiawatha  Gardens  and  the  iron  and  soda 
springs,  at  which  several  places  I  delivered  lectures  to 
the  amused  tourists  and  reaped  a  small  harvest. 

The  Garden  of  the  Gods  is  some  distance  from  town, 
the  popular  drive  being  fourteen  miles  from  start  to 
finish.  To  ride  our  slow  steeds  there  would  mean  a 
sacrifice  of  a  day's  time.  So  after  much  prospecting,  I 
bargained  with  a  garrulous  but  genial  guide  to  drive  us 
with  his  team  to  the  Garden  and  Glen  Eyre  for  the  sum 
of  $2. 

What  a  gay  old  ride  that  was,  in  a  cushion-seated  car- 
280 


SIGHTS  IN   CRIPPLE  CREEK. 

riage!  I'll  bet  there  wasn't  one  square  inch  of  the  seat 
that  I  didn't  cover  before  I  got  back.  Some  way  I 
couldn't  seem  to  get  in  a  comfortable  position.  The 
driver-guide  was  very  accommodating  and  offered  to  go 
back  to  put  a  saddle  on  the  seat  for  me  to  ride  in,  if  I 
would  but  say  the  word. 

The  Garden  of  the  Gods  is  a  picturesque  and  grotesque 
natural  park,  the  rock  formations  of  red  and  white  sand- 
stone resembling  roughly  most  every  bird  and  beast  and 
human  character  imaginable.  In  fact,  one  old  pioneer 
whom  we  met  insisted  that  the  place  is  the  original  Gar- 
den of  Eden,  and  that  when  Adam  and  Eve  were  caught 
eating  the  sour  apple,  God  caused  the  earth  to  cough, 
whereupon  it  threw  up  mountains  of  mud  and  petrified 
many  fine  specimens  of  the  menagerie.  The  mountaineer 
struck  me  as  something  so  unique  in  his  make-up  and 
mental  get-up  that  I  bribed  him  to  accompany  me  and 
explain  those  wonderful  exhibits  of  the  earth's  first  zoo. 
"Now  there  is  Punch  and  Judy,"  he  said;  "most  folks 
take  them  as  sech." 

"I  suppose  you  make  out  they  are  the  stone  mummies 
of  Adam  and  Eve?"  I  interrogated,  showing  effusive  in- 
terest. 

"Our  first  parents,  sure's  you  are  born,"  he  returned 
with  conviction.  "And  there  yender  is  th'  old  washer- 
woman what  done  up  Eve's  laundry." 

"But,"  I  argued,  "the  Scripture  says  Eve  didn't  wear 
clothes,  so  she  couldn't  have  had  any  washing." 

The  man  coughed. — "Well,  my  young  man,"  said  he, 
'I've  lived  a  good  many  year  and  in  a  heap  of  places  and 
seen  a  lot  of  females  come  inter  the  world,  or  seen  'em 
soon  after  they  did  come,  and  I  never  yet  saw  one  come 
in  dressed,  but  yer  kin  bet  yer  last  two-bit  piece,  from 
what  I  knows  of  women,  it  didn't  take  Eve  more  time 

281 


ON  A  DONKEY'S   HURRICANE  DECK 

than  she  needed  to  catch  her  breath  to  change  her 
'mother  Eve'  fer  a  'mother  Hubbard.' " 

Then  the  pioneer  pointed  out  the  "Kissing  Camels," 
the  "Seal"  and  "Bear,"  and  the  "Baggage-room." 

"Are  there  any  petrified  elephants  in  this  menagerie?" 
I  asked.  "I'm  fond  of  big  exhibitions." 

"N-n-no,  they  ain't  no  elifants  here,"  said  he  with  a 
jerk  of  the  head.  "Yer  see  when  the  mud  was  coughed 
up,  they  got  so  fast  they  left  some  of  their  trunks.  That's 
them  in  the  Baggage-room  yender."  And  he  ha-hahed 
over  this  poor  joke. 

As  we  passed  successively  the  "Buffalo's  head,"  the 
"old  Scotchman,"  the  "Porcupine,"  the  "Ant  Eater,"  the 
"old  man's  wine  cellar"  and  the  "Egyptian  Sphinx"  my 
guide  enlightened  us  on  geology,  botany  and  mineral- 
ogy far  beyond  my  powers  of  understanding,  but  not 
desiring  to  reveal  my  ignorance,  I  listened  attentively, 
and  now  and  then  gasped:  "Well,  I  never!"  "I  do  de- 
clare!" "Would  you  believe  it!"  and  "Gracious  sakes 
alive!" 

The  "Gateway"  to  the  famous  park  lies  between  two 
giant  towering  rocks  three  to  four  hundred  feet  in  height, 
and  further  on  the  "Balancing  Rock,"  a  mammoth  mass 
of  sandstone,  appears  to  be  on  the  verge  of  a  fall.  Be- 
fore leaving  the  park  with  its  myriad  curiosities,  I  called 
upon  the  "fat  man"  who  runs  a  bar,  restaurant,  curiosity 
shop  and  miniature  zoo.  There  lying  in  a  box  partially 
covered  was  a  sculptured  figure  of  a  Digger  Indian, 
which  some  enterprising  mortal  must  have  buried,  un- 
earthed, and  sold  to  the  hoodwinked  man,  for  genuine 
petrified  aboriginal  meat. 

Rainbow  Falls,  Grand  Caverns,  William's  Canyon, 
Cave  of  the  Winds  and  Cheyenne  Mountain  Drive  all 
had  their  peculiar  attractions.  On  Cheyenne  Mountain 

282 


SIGHTS  IN   CRIPPLE  CREEK. 

is  the  original  grave  of  Helen  Hunt  Jackson,  author  of 
"Ramona." 

It  was  about  midnight  when,  with  a  small  lunch  in  an 
improvised  knapsack  and  revolvers  in  our  belts,  Coon- 
skin  and  I  began  the  ascent  of  Pike's  Peak,  the  first  at- 
tempt to  do  it  having  been  so  summarily  defeated.  By 
i  a.  m.  we  were  well  up  Engleman's  Canyon  and  with 
the  aid  of  a  lantern  we  surveyed  the  wild  and  steep  cog 
track  with  about  the  same  pleasure  one  feels  in  descend- 
ing a  deep  mine  with  a  lighted  candle.  Higher  and 
higher  as  we  rose  toward  the  starlit  heavens  we  found  it 
more  difficult  to  breathe  and  easier  to  freeze.  At  times 
the  grade  was  so  steep  that  we  had  to  creep  on  our  hands 
and  knees  to  prevent  sliding  backward  to  Manitou.  The 
so-called  beautiful  Lake  Moraine  looked  disenchantingly 
black  and  icy,  and  the  timber  line,  still  far  above  us, 
seemed  as  elusive  as  a  rainbow.  We  had  to  stop  fre- 
quently to  rest  our  knees  and  to  breathe,  for  air  up  there 
was  at  a  premium.  Later  on  we  built  a  fire  of  railroad 
ties  and  ate  our  lunch. 

By  four  o'clock  we  overtook  others  striving  to  make 
the  climb — men,  women  and  small  boys,  whose  chief  aim 
in  life  evidently  was  to  climb  Pike's  Peak.  Some  of 
them  had  started  twelve  hours  before;  others  had  been 
twenty-four  hours  climbing  seven  miles,  and  from  the 
questions  they  put  to  us  were  doubtless  under  the  im- 
pression there  was  an  error  in  the  guide  books  and  that 
they  had  already  tramped  fifty  miles  from  Manitou. 

The  sunrise  effects  from  the  Peak  are  marvelous,  but 
LTncle  Sol  appeared  to  have  as  hard  work  in  rising  morn- 
ings as  we  travelers.  The  sunrise  looked  as  uncertain  as 
our  arrival  on  the  summit.  Once,  we  tarried  to  speculate 
on  our  chances  of  reaching  the  opposite  side  of  Manitou 
in  time  to  witness  the  event,  then  resumed  tramping  and 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

creeping,  puffing  and  blowing  and  snorting,  and  venting 
our  wrath  on  Mr.  Pike  for  discovering  the  peak,  and 
made  the  turn  to  find  the  sun  as  tardy  as  ever,  with  no 
apparent  inclination  to  rise. 

One  old  man  we  overtook  told  me  he  had  been  "nigh 
on  to  twenty  year"  climbing  Pike's  Peak,  and  hadn't 
climbed  it  yet.  That  gave  me  courage.  I  wouldn't  back 
out.  It  looked  as  if  there  were  only  one  more  turn  to 
make,  when,  about  half  way  around,  three  shivering 
maidens  sitting  on  a  rock  asked  me  most  pathetically  if 
I  had  seen  any  kindling  wood  about.  My  heart  was 
touched!  I  replied  that  I  had  not,  but  would  try  to  find 
some. 

I  built  a  fire,  and  the  girls  were  real  nice  to  me,  and 
insisted  that  I  share  their  cheese  sandwiches. 

On  arriving  at  the  summit  I  was  just  in  time  to  see  the 
most  dazzlingly  beautiful  sunrise  to  be  witnessed  on  earth. 

Arriving  on  the  board  walk  in  front  of  the  Summit 
House  I  saw  Coonskin  thawing  in  the  sun,  fast  asleep. 
Inside  the  house  a  young  man  lay  on  a  sofa  in  a  swoon, 
for  want  of  air.  There  is  a  golden  opportunity  for  some 
enterprising  man  to  transport  barrels  of  air  to  an  air- 
tight building  on  the  Peak,  and  sell  it  to  patrons  for  a 
dollar  a  pint.  A  hundred  gallons  could  have  been  sold 
that  morning — I  would  have  bought  fifty  myself. 

Wandering  aimlessly  and  weakly,  as  if  from  that  tired 
feeling,  about  the  house  and  rocky-looking  grounds,  were 
several  dozen  mountain-climbers,  shaking  hands  with 
themselves  for  having  seen  the  sunrise,  or  examining  the 
crater  of  the  extinct  volcano,  or  discussing  the  mysteri- 
ous ingredients  of  their  coffee  cups  in  the  only  restaurant, 
which  small  concoctions  cost  fifteen  cents  each.  I 
haven't  said  what  was  in  the  cups;  it  was  supposed  to  be 
coffee.  I  bought  a  cup,  and  forgetting  that  I  had  drunk 

284 


SIGHTS   IN   CRIPPLE  CREEK. 

it,  bought  another,  and  still  I  didn't  make  out  what  it 
was.  Then  I  purchased  another,  and  after  I  had  finished 
four  cups  began  to  have  a  suspicion  of  coffee.  It  cost 
me  sixty  cents. 

After  resting  an  hour  we  started  back  to  Manitou.  It 
was  two  p.  m.  before  the  foot-sore  Pod  and  his  lung- 
sore  valet  managed  to  get  to  their  hotel.  In  less  than 
an  hour  both  became  rational,  and  agreed  that  the  first 
of  them  to  mention  Pike's  Peak  should  instantly  be  de- 
prived of  breath. 

To  those  who  boast  of  their  ability  to  grow  fat  on 
beautiful  scenery  I  heartily  commend  the  trail  through 
Ute  Pass,  Divide,  Cripple  Creek,  South  Park,  Lead- 
ville  and  Aspen  to  Glenwood  Springs,  crossing  Western 
and  Independence  Passes.  First  proceeding  up  Ute  Can- 
yon along  the  banks  of  the  turbulent  stream  and  in  the 
shadow  of  the  towering  cliffs,  often  in  view  and  in  hear- 
ing of  the  trains  on  the  Colorado  Midland,  we  passed  the 
summer  retreats  of  Cascade  and  Green  Mountain  Falls, 
at  which  places  the  tourists  flocked  from  hotels,  cottages 
and  tents  to  talk  with  Pod  and  Mac  A'Rony. 

Only  a  brief  stop  was  made  at  Divide  to  enable  me  to 
replenish  my  larder;  then  we  hustled  on  toward  the  fa- 
mous mining  camp. 

Early  every  afternoon  a  thunder  shower  drenched 
our  party.  Once  or  twice  the  thunder  in  advance  warned 
us  so  we  could  pitch  tent  and  crawl  under  shelter.  Thus 
our  travels  in  that  region  were  impeded. 

Three  miles  beyond  Gillette  we  climbed  to  Altman, 
said  to  be  the  highest  incorporated  town  in  the  United 
States,  some  11,300  feet  above  the  sea.  It  rests  literally 
on  the  summit  and  hangs  down  over  the  mountain  sides 
secure  enough  whenever  and  wherever  there  is  a  pros- 
pect hole  with  sufficient  gold  in  it  to  serve  the  miners  a 

285 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

foothold  and  check  their  sliding  further.  The  high  alti- 
tude of  the  district  makes  it  especially  undesirable  for 
women,  causing  nervous  troubles.  Even  the  male  popu- 
lation are  more  or  less  excitable,  and  when  prospectors 
think  they  have  made  a  strike  some  of  them  run  about 
like  lunatics. 

From  Altman  we  took  a  tortuous  trail,  threading  Gold- 
field,  Independence,  Victor  and  Anaconda.  The  moun- 
tains about  are  honeycombed  with  prospect  holes — or 
graves  they  might  be  properly  called,  for  many  of  them 
contain  buried  hopes.  From  a  distance  they  look  like 
prairie-dog  towns,  but  occasional  shaft-houses  and  gal- 
lows-frames rise  here  and  there  to  give  character  to  the 
mining  region,  while  several  railroad  and  electric  car 
lines  wind  about  the  hills  and  gulches. 

Many  of  the  cabins  in  these  towns  are  built  of  logs;  the 
streets  look  to  have  been  surveyed  by  cows  rather  than 
engineers.  As  a  rule,  there  is  no  symmetry  to  the  thor- 
oughfares— up  hill  and  down  hill,  crooking  and  winding, 
crossing  and  converging,  in  a  manner  to  puzzle,  a  resi- 
dent of  a  year.  The  situation  of  most  of  the  habitations 
seems  to  have  been  governed  by  the  location  of  the 
claim  of  each  house  owner.  This  great  camp  got  its 
name  from  two  circumstances  occurring  when  the  local- 
ity was  known  for  no  other  virtue  than  a  grazing  place 
for  cattle.  One  day  on  the  banks  of  the  creek  that  trickled 
through  the  present  site  of  Cripple  Creek  a  man  broke 
his  leg,  and  the  following  day  a  cowboy  was  thrown 
from  his  bronco  and  had  his  arm  broken.  Some  one, 
seeing  both  accidents,  said:  "I  reckon  we'd  better  call 
this  place  Cripple  Creek."  So  the  noted  camp  was  chris- 
tened. 


286 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


You  do  ill  to  teach  the  child  such  words;  he  teaches  him  to 
kick,  and  to  hack,  which  they'll  do  fast  enough  of  themselves ; 
and  to  call  horum ; — fye  upon  you ! — Merry  Wives  of  Windsor. 

Frequently  since  crossing  the  Mississippi  Pod  had  re- 
ceived letters  from  proud  parents  informing  him  that 
they  had  named  their  latest  boy  after  him.  At  that  time 
in  Cripple  Creek,  several  boys  ranging  from  a  day  to  six 
weeks  old,  whose  destinies  were  thought  to  be  promis- 
ing, were  afflicted  with  my  master's  ponderous  name. 

A  little  green-eyed  Irish  girl,  five  days  old,  was  named 
Pythagorina  Podina  Mulgarry.  The  happy  father  called 
personally  on  Pod  and  asked  him  to  act  as  godfather  at 
the  baptismal  service,  Sunday  afternoon.  The  impres- 
sive ceremony  took  place  at  the  cabin  of  Miss  Pythago- 
rina, as  the  aged  grandmother  wished  to  witness  it.  Pod 
said  he  was  somewhat  embarrassed  about  attending, 
since  he  had  forgotten  almost  all  his  Latin,  but  he  ar- 
ranged with  one  of  the  pall  bearers  to  give  him  nudges 
and  kicks  when  it  was  expected  of  him  to  make  a  re- 
sponse, and  so  he  got  through  fairly  well — better  than 
the  kid  did.  He  said  the  babe  was  an  unruly  child,  and 
kicked  so  frantically  when  the  priest  took  her  in  his  arms 
that  two  flatirons  were  tied  to  its  feet  to  keep  them  down. 
It  was  simply  nervousness,  because  the  high  altitude  af- 
fected the  child's  nerves.  So  when  the  priest  was  handed 
the  tiny  thing  in  swaddling  clothes  and  held  it  over 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

the  barrel  that  served  as  the  font,  the  poor  girl  was 
frightened  and  squirmed,  and  suddenly  slipped  out  of  the 
priest's  arms  into  the  barrel  and  sank  out  of  sight. 
There  was  great  excitement  and  surprise  because  the 
flatirons  didn't  float,  and  the  undertaker,  or  what  you 
call  'em,  overturned  the  barrel  of  water  and  set  every- 
body afloat,  drenching  the  sponsors  and  guests. 

Pod  said  the  scene  was  without  a  parallel;  he  was 
soaked  to  his  equator;  the  half-christened,  half-drowned 
Pythagorina  Podina  was  picked  up  from  the  flood  with 
a  tablespoon,  and  the  ceremony  finished;  then  she  was 
rolled  on  the  barrel  to  get  all  the  water  out  of  her,  and 
put  to  bed  with  hot  flatirons  at  her  feet  to  prevent  croup 
and  mumps.  Then  the  wake  broke  up.  I  don't  believe 
the  child  understood  a  word  that  the  priest  said;  Pod 
didn't. 

That  night  he  got  up  a  fine  supper,  and  invited  some 
old  friends.  He  bought  a  big  porterhouse  steak,  thick 
and  tender,  and  personally  broiled  it  on  his  patent  fold- 
ing stove.  Just  when  everything  was  on  the  table  and 
the  guests  were  finding  stones  and  tin  plates  to  sit  on, 
Don,  not  having  had  a  thing  to  eat  for  an  hour,  coolly 
pulled  the  hot  steak  off  the  platter  and  dropped  it  on  the 
ground.  Pod  didn't  say  anything,  though,  but  just 
forked  it  on  to  the  platter  and  scraped  off  some  dry 
grass  and  a  sliver  and  a  bug,  and  carved  it  up  and  gen- 
erously put  it  on  the  ladies'  plates.  The  ladies  looked 
at  the  dog,  and  then  at  Pod,  not  knowing  which  to 
thank,  then  feeling  sensitive  about  accepting  the  best 
part  of  the  steak,  insisted  upon  Pod's  having  one  of  their 
pieces  and  Coonskin  the  other;  and  both  men  being 
kind  and  gallant  accepted  the  compliment,  and  all  fell 
to  eating.  But  the  guests  didn't  eat  much.  They  said 
they  had  just  had  dinner.  You  could  see  plainly  from 

288 


BABY   GIRL   NAMED   FOR   POD. 

their  appetites  that  they  were  telling  the  truth.  After 
supper  Don  feasted  on  the  tougher  parts  of  the  steak, 
and  we  donks  were  fed  the  scraps  of  potatoes  and  bread 
and  tin  tomato  and  peach  cans.  When  the  banquet  was 
over  the  guests  went  home. 

Pod  devoted  Monday  morning  to  business,  and  took 
in  a  good  stock  of  supplies,  and  after  lunch  we  set  out 
on  the  trail  to  Florisant,  about  twenty  miles  away. 
About  six  o'clock  we  went  into  camp  on  the  margin  of 
a  famous  petrified  forest.  Pod  objected  at  first,  because 
of  the  scarcity  of  fire-wood. 

"Lots  of  petrified  wood  chips  lying  around,"  I  re- 
marked; "and  they'll  last.  Ordinary  wood  burns  up  too 
fast." 

"Bright  idea!"  exclaimed  Pod.  And  Coonskin  went 
to  work  gathering  petrified  wood  for  the  supper  fire. 
"The  only  trouble  will  be  in  starting  the  fire,"  said  Pod. 
"Just  as  soon  as  it's  once  going,  it  ought  to  burn 
smoothly  enough — might  pour  coal  oil  on  the  chips. 
What  do  you  say,  Coonskin?" 

Coonskin's  opinion  didn't  benefit  Pod  much.  His 
hard-wood  fire  wasn't  very  satisfactory,  but  with  some 
dry  brush  the  men  got  the  meal  under  way.  Next  morn- 
ing we  visited  the  noted  petrified  stump,  measuring  up- 
wards of  forty-five  feet  in  circumference.  Several  saws 
were  imbedded  in  it,  for  many  futile  attempts  had  been 
made  to  take  off  some  slices  for  the  Denver  Exposition. 
It  has  been  estimated  by  various  ornithologists,  botan- 
ists and  entomologists  that  the  stump  is  millions  of  years 
old.  I.  think  they  were  guessing  at  it,  for  I  couldn't  see 
the  rings,  and  even  if  I  had  seen  them  with  a  telescope  a 
fellow  couldn't  live  long  enough  to  count  them. 

We  journeyed  until  ten  at  night,  stopping  at  Florisant 
only  a  few  minutes  to  buy  a  crate  of  peaches.  Several 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

times  I  had  a  suspicion  that  we  had  been  misdirected. 
When  we  came  to  the  end  of  a  narrow  wood-road  I 
was  sure  of  it.  We  went  into  camp,  and  before  break- 
fast a  timberman  called  on  us. 

"You  kin  trail  through  the  timber  to  Pemberton,"  said 
he  to  Pod,  "and  then  cut  through  to  Fairplay,  er  you  kin 
go  back  the  way  ye  came." 

"What  do  you  say?"  Pod  inquired,  turning  to  Coon- 
skin. 

"I  think  best  to  go  through  the  woods,"  said  the 
valet. 

So  we  were  headed  for  the  timber.  Our  tramp 
through  the  forest  I  cannot  soon  forget.  Up  and  down 
the  rocky  heights,  through  thickets  of  quaking  asp  and 
pine,  tangled  roots  and  fallen  trees,  we  climbed  and 
panted  and  coughed  and  brayed  for  some  four  miles,  when 
we  stopped  to  rest  and  realized  we  were  lost.  Coonskin 
said  he  was  an  experienced  woodman,  and  would  blaze 
the  trees  so  we  would  get  out  again.  Wonderful!  the 
amount  of  learning  he  had  gleaned  from  dime  novels. 
He  lagged  behind  to  do  the  blazing;  and  pretty  soon  I 
smelt  smoke.  The  Professor  snuffed. 

"Smells  as  if  the  woods  were  on  fire  somewhere," 
hinted  Pod. 

"Look  behind  you;  they  are!"  I  exclaimed.  And  Pod 
caught  that  erudite  valet-back-woodsman  in  the  act  of 
setting  a  tree  on  fire  with  oil  and  matches.  Fortunately 
for  us  the  wind  wasn't  blowing  strong,  but  we  had  to 
change  our  course  some,  and  hustle  faster,  for  the  blaz- 
ing trail  chased  us.  Coonskin  learned  a  new  lesson,  and 
turned  down  the  corner  of  the  page  so  he'd  recollect  it. 
After  Pod  had  explained  the  meaning  of  the  word  "blaze" 
in  this  case,  the  fellow  was  more  put  out  than  the  fire. 

At  length  we  struck  a  trail  which  led  to  a  couple  of 

290 


BABY   GIRL   NAMED   FOR   POD. 

cabins  in  the  canyon.  A  board  sign  informed  us  it  was 
simply  Turkey  Creek.  I  couldn't  see  any  turkeys,  but 
there  was  good  pasturage  around.  The  hot  trip  through 
the  timber  made  us  all  hungry. 

It  was  three  o'clock  when  we  donks  were  picketed 
and  allowed  to  graze.  Then  Coonskin  went  fishing.  He 
said  he  had  seen  some  trout  in  the  stream;  by  supper 
time  he  had  caught  a  nice  mess.  Pod  said  he  would 
fry  the  fish,  and  went  at  it  so  enthusiastically  that  he  for- 
got to  put  the  bag  of  corn  meal  back  in  its  place.  After 
the  meal  was  over,  he  began  to  look  around  for  the  bag. 
It  was  nowhere  to  be  found;  I  had  eaten  the  corn  meal 
and  bag.  It  was  comical  how  those  two  men  puzzled 
their  brains  about  that  missing  commodity.  When 
Coonskin  detected  some  meal  stamped  in  the  ground,  Pod 
pointed  at  me  and  said,  "That's  the  thief,  there." 

Next  morning,  Coonskin  was  the  first  to  return  from 
fishing,  and  looked  much  excited.  When  Pod  returned 
he  told  him  he  had  seen  huge  bear  tracks ;  he  was  going 
bear-hunting.  Pod  laughed  at  him. 

"Now  let  me  tell  you,"  said  the  boy,  "we  aren't  likely 
to  get  any  big  game  on  this  trip  if  we  are  looking  and 
gunning  for  it.  That  was  my  experience  in  the  woods 
of  Wisconsin.  The  men  at  the  saw-mill  said  we  should 
see  bear  in  this  forest,  but  where  are  they?  It's  my 
opinion  if  we  loiter  around  this  here  canyon  a  day  with- 
out guns  we  will  see  a  bear  pretty  soon.  A  silvertip 
would  be  a  boon  to  you,  Prof;  its  skin  would  fetch 
fifty  dollars  or  more.  Let's  look  for  bear." 

"What  would  you  do  if  you  saw  a  bear?"  Pod  asked. 

"Well,  now  leave  that  to  me,"  said  Coonskin.  "In  the 
first  place,  it  would  be  worth  a  hairbreadth  escape  to  see 
one  wild;  I've  only  seen  bears  in  circuses,  or  traveling 
chained  to  Italians;  in  the  second  place,  I  can  run.  I've 

291 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

plenty  of  medals  for  sprinting,  but  if  I  saw  a  real  bear  I 
could  beat  all  records." 

Pod  looked  at  me  and  I  looked  at  Pod;  I  hadn't  any- 
thing to  say  on  the  subject;  it  didn't  interest  me  as  much 
as  it  did  Coonskin.  Pod  went  fishing  that  afternoon 
with  a  gun,  and  took  the  whole  arsenal  along  with  him, 
including  the  axe. 

Somewhere  about  five  o'clock  Pod  came  into  camp 
with  a  good  mess  of  trout.  After  cleaning  the  fish,  he 
took  off  his  guns,  and  laid  down  on  the  grass,  and  won- 
dered if  that  crazy  valet  had  run  across  any  more  bear 
tracks.  He  wasn't  there  long  when,  suddenly,  I  heard 
yells  issuing  from  the  canyon  down  stream  round  the 
bend.  The  shouting  sounded  nearer  every  second,  and 
I  soon  distinguished  Coonskin's  voice.  Pod  got  up  from 
the  ground  excitedly. 

"Coonskin's  in  trouble,  plain  enough,"  said  Pod  aloud 
to  himself,  "I  must  run  to  his  aid."  So  he  started  on  a 
trot  down  stream  to  the  bend,  and  then  quickly  turned, 
falling  all  over  himself,  and  ran  toward  the  cabins  faster 
than  I  ever  saw  him  run  before  or  since.  And  imme- 
diately Coonskin  came  flying  into  view  with  the  biggest 
bear  at  his  heels  I  ever  want  to  see. 

That  sight  paralyzed  me;  I  couldn't  get  on  to  my  feet 
for  a  minute  or  two,  then  I  broke  the  rope  and  kited  up 
the  canyon  a  hundred  yards,  where  behind  a  tree  I 
waited  to  see  the  interesting  finish. 


292 


CHAPTER  XL. 

BY  PYE  POD. 

Who  dared  touch  the  wild  bear's  skin 

Ye  slumbered  on  while  life  was  in?  —Scott. 

How  fast  a  man  can  run  when  he  knows  he's  got  to 
win  a  race!  There  was  one  time  in  my  life  when 
"can't"  was  an  obsolete  word  in  my  vocabulary.  It  was 
when  that  silvertip  granted  Coonskin's  chief  desire  in 
the  field  of  adventure. 

"Shoot  him!  Shoot  him!"  cried  the  angler,  as  he 
fairly  flew  past  me,  headed  for  the  first  cabin. 

But  I  had  neither  time  nor  gun  to  shoot;  when  I  heard 
bruin  at  my  heels  I  switched  off  to  the  left  and  ran  three 
times  around  the  second  cabin  before  I  realized  the  bear 
had  taken  a  stronger  fancy  to  my  comrade.  It  seems  he 
had  chased  Coonskin  around  the  cabin  several  times, 
until  the  man  dived  in  the  door  and  head  first  out  of  the 
window.  Bruin  followed  in,  but  remained.  He  smelled 
the  fragrant  peaches. 

Coonskin,  however,  under  the  impression  that  bruin 
was  still  after  him,  ran  twice  around  the  cabin  before  he 
climbed  a  tree. 

Meanwhile,  I,  having  climbed  a  tree  close  to  the  cabin, 
descended  to  the  cabin  roof.  I  knew  silvertips  couldn't 
climb  trees,  so  I  felt  safe.  The  sudden  shuffle  of  my  feet 
on  the  gravel-covered  roof  disturbed  the  peace  of  the 
present  incumbent,  and  out  he  came,  rose  on  his  haunches 
and  looked  about  to  see  what  was  up.  I  was  immovable. 

293 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

Back  into  the  cabin  went  brother  Bruin,  and  began  to 
break  up  things,  generally. 

Then  followed  a  few  moments  of  dreadful  silence.  Not 
a  sound  issued  from  Coonskin's  tree;  he  was  probably 
trying  to  recover  his  breath  and  reason.  Night  soon 
fell  upon  us;  it  gets  dark  early  in  the  canyons,  and  the 
mercury  falls  fast.  I  was  chilly,  for  I  shivered  fright- 
fully. The  blankets  and  guns  were  on  the  ground  just 
outside  the  cabin. 

"Let's  flip  a  coin  to  see  which  of  us  goes  down  for  a 
gun,"  suggested  Coonskin  from  his  tree.  But  I  did  not 
take  him  seriously. 

"Don't  you  wish  you  had  taken  the  fish-line  off  your 
rod?"  he  added;  "you  could  fish  up  a  blanket  and  keep 
from  freezing." 

"By  jingo!"  I  exclaimed,  "I  have  my  line,  and  I'll  try 
it." 

At  once  I  fashioned  a  fish-pole  out  of  a  pine  bough, 
and  after  much  patience  secured  the  only  blanket  within 
reach.  Then  winding  it  around  myself,  I  lay  as  snug  as 
possible,  but  couldn't  go  to  sleep.  That  was  the  longest 
night  I  ever  experienced.  How  long  we  should  be  kept 
off  the  earth,  was  an  unpleasant  speculation.  Once  I 
called  to  Coonskin  not  to  go  to  sleep  and  tumble  out  of 
the  tree,  but  he  answered  that  he  was  so  stuck  up  with 
pitch  he  couldn't  fall. 

Our  hopes  were  low,  when,  suddenly,  about  seven 
o'clock,  from  the  canyon  below  appeared  a  man  in  the 
rough  garb  of  a  mountaineer,  with  a  rifle  across  his 
shoulder  and  a  hunting  knife  in  his  belt.  As  he  was 
about  to  pass  I  hailed  him. 

The  hunter  stopped,  looked  my  way,  approached  to 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  cabin,  and  said  a  cheery  "Good 
morning."  I  responded  in  a  mood  still  more  cheery. 

294 


TREED   BY   A   SILVERTIP   BEAR. 

"What  you  doin'  up  there — smoking?  Had  breakfast, 
I  reckon." 

"No,  haven't  cooked  yet  this  morning,"  I  returned. 

"Glad  t'  hear  that — haven'  et  yet  myself.  Got  'nough 
to  go  round?"  he  asked,  shifting  a  cud  of  tobacco  from 
one  side  to  the  other. 

"Don't  know  about  that,"  I  said.  "You'll  have  to  ask 
the  boss — he's  inside." 

As  the  rugged  looking  huntsman  approached  the  cabin 
door,  I  held  my  breath,  but  I  rose  to  my  feet  when  I  ac- 
tually saw  the  hunter's  hat  rise  on  his  uplifted  hair  as  he 
looked  into  the  cabin  door.  With  the  quickness  and  cool- 
ness that  come  to  one  habituated  to  solitary  life  in  the 
wilds,  he  put  his  Sharp's  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  aimed  and 
fired.  There  was  a  second  report,  followed  by  a  tre- 
mendous thud,  and  the  sound  of  something  within 
struggling  for  life  and  vengeance.  The  hunter  had  no 
sooner  fired  than  he  dodged,  and  stood  ready  for  a  sec- 
ond charge;  but  that  was  not  needed. 

"Come  down,"  he  said  to  me  with  a  grim  smile.  "I'm 
boss  here  now." 

I  slid  off  the  roof,  and  Coonskin,  to  the  man's  surprise, 
appeared  from  his  lofty  perch;  then  we  introduced  our- 
selves. While  I  thanked  the  hunter  for  his  kind  offices 
and  welcomed  him  to  breakfast,  Coonskin  began  to  pre- 
pare the  meal.  Our  guest  explained  that  he  was  a  bee- 
hunter. 

"When  the  bear  meets  the  bee-hunter  searchin'  for  a 
bee  tree,  brother  Bruin  says,  'Ahem!  Excuse  me,  but 
I'm  workin'  this  'ere  side  of  the  trail,  you  just  take  t'other 
side/  Then  the  bee-hunter  says:  Tardon,  my  friend, 
Mr.  Bear,  but  I'm  workin'  both  sides  of  this  particular 
trail,  just  throw  up  your  paws.' ' 

The  bee-hunter  chuckled  over  the  practical  joke  played 

295 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

on  him,  and  said  as  it  came  from  a  tenderfoot  he'd  take 
it  in  good  part;  but  if  it  had  been  a  backwoodsman  that 
played  such  a  game  he'd  settle  with  the  bear  and  the 
man  in  the  same  fashion.  His  words  and  manner  startled 
me. 

The  bee-hunter  rose  from  the  log  and  drawing  his 
knife,  dropped  on  his  knee,  and  began  to  skin  the  bear  as 
if  he  thought  he  owned  it. 

"You  needn't  bother  about  skinning  it  for  us,"  I  said, 
"we're  quite  satisfied  that  you  killed  it." 

The  man  eyed  me.  "This  bear  belongs  to  me,  if  ye 
want  to  know,"  he  said. 

"How  is  it  your  bear?"  Coonskin  asked,  when  he  came 
to  announce  breakfast.  "You  shot  it,  but  in  our  cabin." 

"That  don't  make  no  difference,  and  I  don't  intend 
arguing  the  question,"  came  the  positive  retort;  "I  say 
he's  mine — who  says  he  hain't?" 

I  suddenly  felt  a  bee  in  my  bonnet.  "The  'ayes'  have 
it,"  I  said. 

That  stopped  the  debate,  but  I  could  see  blood  in 
Coonskin's  eye  when  he  ushered  us  to  breakfast.  Be- 
fore we  had  finished,  my  nervy  valet  asked  our  guest 
if  he  played  poker.  "Ya-a-as,  some,"  the  hunter  drawled. 
"If  there's  money  in  it,  I'll  jine  ye  in  a  game." 

What  could  Coonskin  have  in  mind,  to  challenge  this 
rough  mountaineer  to  a  game  of  cards?  He  had  often 
boasted  of  his  skill  at  poker.  Now  he  cleared  the  table 
and  brought  forth  the  cards  he  had  carried  way  from 
Iowa,  and  motioning  the  bee-hunter  to  a  seat,  the  two 
cut  for  the  deal.  From  my  seat,  beside  Coonskin,  I  dis- 
covered a  little  round  mirror  hanging  on  the  wall  behind 
the  hunter  opposite;  it  was  the  one  my  valet  had  pur- 
chased in  Denver.  Where  he  sat  he  could  see  the  hunt- 
er's hand  reflected  in  the  glass.  I  felt  if  he  were  detected 

296 


'Through  thickets,  tangled  roots  and  fallen  trees." 


TREED  BY  A  SILVERTIP  BEAR 

in  this  underhand  game  it  would  go  ill  with  both  of  us;  so 
put  both  revolvers  in  my  belt,  and  kept  mum.  That  was 
an  interesting  game. 

"Lend  me  some  change,"  said  Coonskin.  I  threw  him 
my  bag  of  silver.  Then  he  added:  "Pod,  you  count  out 
the  matches  here  for  chips  and  act  as  banker."  So  I 
was  drawn  into  the  game.  The  first  few  hands  were  very 
ordinary,  and  caused  no  excitement.  But  finally  the 
bee-hunter,  arched  his  eyebrows;  I  knew  he  must  have  a 
fine  hand  or  a  bluff,  in  store  for  his  tenderfoot  opponent. 
He  bet  heavily,  but  Coonskin  raised  the  ante  every  time. 
Suddenly  what  had  been  in  Coonskin's  mind  all  the  time 
was  revealed.  "Lend  me  fifty  dollars,"  said  he  to  me, 
and  to  the  bee-hunter  added:  "I'll  lay  this  roll  of  bills 
against  the  bear  skin,  and  call  you." 

"I'll  go  ye,"  said  the  bee-hunter.  When  both  men 
lay  down  their  hands,  I  had  taken  down  the  mirror  and 
hid  it  in  my  pocket. 

"Beaten  by  four  jacks!  I  be  d d!"  the  outraged 

mountaineer  exclaimed,  pounding  his  fist  on  the  table 
and  regarding  his  four  ten-spots  with  grim  disfavor. 
Coonskin  grinned  from  ear  to  ear  as  he  swept  in  the 
money.  Said  he,  "Mac  A'Rony,  Cheese,  Damfino  and 
Skates — I  swear  by  them  every  time.  Whenever  I  get 
that  hand  I'm  billed  to  win." 

"So  yer  travelin'  on  them  jacks,"  remarked  the  de- 
feated partner. 

"No,  not  exactly,"  Coonskin  returned  as  he  rose  from 
his  seat.  "The  jacks  I'm  traveling  with  are  out  doors; 
these  are  their  tin-types." 

The  bee-hunter  looked  chagrined  enough,  but  he  took 
the  thing  as  a  matter  of  course,  apparently  never  dream- 
ing that  he  had  been  actually  buncoed  by  a  boy  tender- 
foot. Presently  he  rose,  and  shouldering  his  rifle,  made 

297 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

his  departure  without  thanking  us  for  our  hospitality.  I 
hoped  sincerely  he  would  find  his  bee  tree,  and  harvest 
a  rich  reward.  I  told  Coonskin  he  was  a  brick.  He  ac- 
cepted his  winnings  modestly,  and  fell  to  finishing  the 
task  of  skinning  the  bear.  It  was  a  fine  skin.  After  salt- 
ing it,  and  wrapping  it  in  gunnysacks,  I  packed  our  lug- 
gage while  Coonskin  saddled  the  donkeys. 

Shortly  after  noon  we  reached  the  road  that  was  al- 
ready familiar  to  us,  and  five  hours  later  arrived  in  Flori- 
sant. 

It  was  sundown  when  we  went  into  camp.  I  had  lost 
three  days,  but  I  had  been  fully  compensated  by  the 
pleasures  of  angling  and  bear-hunting. 

Next  day  we  were  off  for  Leadville  in  good  season. 
My  animals  seemed  to  be  in  fine  traveling  form;  by  sun- 
set we  arrived  in  South  Park.  It  was  Saturday.  There 
we  enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  a  deserted,  floorless  cabin, 
where,  sheltered  from  the  wind,  we  could  eat  without 
swallowing  an  inordinate  amount  of  sand.  Close  by  was 
a  fine  spring,  so  we  resolved  to  remain  until  Sunday 
afternoon.  We  were  awakened  at  dawn  by  a  bevy  of 
magpies  perched  on  the  tent;  Coonskin  was  so  annoyed 
that  1ue  crept  to  the  door  and  shot  the  chief  disturber,  in 
spite  of  the  bad  luck  promised  him  by  a  popular  legend. 

South  Park  is  one  of  three  great  preserves  in  Colorado. 
There  once  roamed  buffalo,  deer,  elk,  antelope  and 
wolves,  while  on  the  mountains  bordering  the  valley  were 
quantities  of  mountain  sheep.  A  few  deer,  sheep  and 
bear  are  said  to  be  still  found  in  that  section.  Coyotes 
are  heard  nightly,  and  the  evening  we  trailed  out  of  the 
Park  a  traveler  with  a  prairie  schooner  said  he  had  seen 
two  gray  wolves. 

Our  afternoon  trip  through  the  Park  was  a  painful 
cue.  Mosquitoes  attacked  us  from  every  quarter,  and  it 

298 


TREED   BY   A   SILVERTIP   BEAR. 

was  mosquito  netting,  pennyroyal  and  kerosene  alone 
that  saved  our  lives.  When  we  consider  that  Mosquito 
Pass,  the  highest  pass  of  the  Rockies,  13,700  feet,  was 
named  after  a  mosquito  we  may  derive  some  idea  of  the 
size  of  the  insect. 

It  was  late  in  the  night,  when,  after  brief  stops  at  two 
sheep  ranches  run  by  Mexicans,  and  another  at  a  small 
settlement,  we  entered  the  canyon.  It  required  two  days 
of  hard  climbing  to  cross  Western  Pass.  The  snow-capped 
peaks  of  the  range  looked  grand  and  beautiful,  and  the 
noisy  streams  in  the  canyons  leading  from  the  summit 
on  both  sides  were  stocked  with  trout. 

The  morning  we  trailed  out  of  the  canyon  into  the 
Arkansas  Valley  was  clear  and  lovely.  After  traveling 
some  distance  up  the  valley,  the  smoke  of  the  Leadville 
smelters  burst  into  view,  and  a  mile  beyond  the  city 
itself  could  be  seen  nestling  against  the  towering  moun- 
tains. 

This  famous  mining  camp  gave  us  royal  welcome.  The 
report  in  the  papers  that  Pye  Pod  would  lecture  that 
evening  drew  an  enthusiastic  throng,  applauding  and 
crowding  closely  about  the  donkeys,  all  eager  for  the 
chromos  that  Coonskin  sold  while  I  talked. 

Next  morning  we  crossed  the  valley  and  pitched  camp 
on  the  banks  of  Twin  Lake,  two  lovely  sheets  of  water  at 
the  mouth  of  the  canyon  leading  to  Independence  Pass. 

This  pass  is  one  of  the  loftiest  of  the  Continental  Di- 
vide— that  snowy  range  from  which  the  rivers  of  Western 
America  flow  east  or  west  through  undisputed  domains. 
Trailing  up,  the  ascent  gradually  became  very  precipitous 
and  the  trail  a  severe  trial.  Over  this  pass,  climbed  the 
overland  stages  and  freighting  wagons  with  their  four 
and  eight-horse  teams.  It  was,  in  ante-railroad  days,  a 
popular  route,  and  the  now  deserted  cabins  of  Independ- 

299 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

ence  once  composed  a  lively  mining  camp.  Although 
the  trail  was  kept  in  good  order,  yet  wagons  and  teams 
frequently  toppled  over  the  narrow  trail,  and  mules, 
horses  and  passengers  met  their  death  on  the  rocks  be- 
low. 

We  men  walked  to  relieve  our  animals  and  arrived  at 
the  summit  at  sundown.  Looking  backward,  for  six  or 
seven  miles  the  view  surpassed  in  grandeur  any  scene  of 
the  kind  I  had  ever  viewed.  The  stream  appeared  to  be 
spun  from  liquid  fleece  from  the  mountain  sides,  and 
tumbled  and  foamed  over  the  rocks  and  fallen  trees  in 
its  bed  until  it  looked  like  a  strand  of  wool  in  a  hundred 
snarls. 

While  resting-,  a  heavy  snow  squall  descended,  and 
drove  us  on  across  the  pass  into  the  western  canyon  for 
shelter.  This  canyon  surpassed  in  grandeur  and  size  the 
other.  Knowing  our  sure-footed  steeds  would  keep  the 
trail  much  better  than  we,  Coonskin  and  I  got  in  the 
saddle,  but  more  than  once  I  nearly  went  over  Mac's 
head. 

When  we  had  proceeded  only  a  mile  below  the  sum- 
mit, the  trail  became  particularly  narrow  and  rocky.  To 
the  right,  protruded  from  the  bank  a  great  boulder,  and 
to  the  left  sloped  a  deep  and  sheer  precipice,  to  which 
only  the  roots  and  stumps  of  trees  could  cling.  Here 
my  valet  dismounted;  I  should  have  done  likewise.  Mac 
considered  a  moment  whether  or  not  to  descend  further, 
then  made  a  sudden  dive,  shying  from  the  declivity  and 
striking  the  rock  on  our  right,  and  was  jarred  off  his  feet, 
falling  with  me  over  the  edge  of  the  trail. 

Down  and  over  we  rolled  toward  the  yawning  gulf 
some  forty  feet  before  we  caught  on  a  stump  and 
stopped.  That  was  a  dreadful  moment  for  me.  For  a 
time  I  lay  still,  not  daring  to  excite  Mac. 

300 


TREED   BY  A  SILVERTIP  BEAR 

Carefully  I  extricated  myself  from  my  perilous  posi- 
tion, and  held  my  donkey's  head  down  till  Coonskin  got 
the  ropes  from  Damfino's  pack  and  came  to  my  relief. 
In  time  the  other  three  donkeys  pulled  Mac  A'Rony  up 
on  to  the  trail. 

We  pitched  camp  and  Sunday  morning  continued 
down  the  trail,  which  soon  presented  difficulties  still 
more  discouraging.  The  numerous  springs  had  necessi- 
tated corduroy  roads  often  hundreds  of  feet  in  extent. 
But  these  had  been  so  long  in  general  disuse  that  the  logs 
had  rotted  away  in  places. 

Frequently  Coonskin  and  I  dismounted  and  repaired 
the  corduroy  breaches,  with  fallen  trees,  thereby  losing 
much  time.  By  dark  my  outfit  had  made  but  three 
miles.  In  the  darkness  of  evening  we  came  to  the  empty 
cabins  of  old  Independence,  whose  single  inhabitant 
called  to  us  from  his  doorway  as  we  passed. 

At  last  we  arrived  at  an  old-time  stage-house.  It  was 
now  temporarily  tenanted  by  fishermen  from  Aspen,  who 
asked  us  to  spend  the  night  with  them.  I  accepted;  soon 
my  animals  were  feeding  on  the  fresh  grass  bordering  a 
spring  nearby,  and  Coonskin  and  I  seated  at  the  hot  re- 
past our  hosts  had  quickly  provided. 

The  house  was  large,  with  a  high  roof  and  a  dirt  floor. 
A  great  fire  blazed  in  the  center,  lending  comfort  to  the 
cozy  quarters.  The  anglers  had  spread  their  blankets 
in  one  end  of  the  shack,  and  we  pitched  our  tent  in  the 
other  and  soon  fell  to  sleep,  while  the  fishermen  likely 
continued  to  swap  "lies"  till  a  late  hour.  The  last  re- 
marks I  heard  almost  made  me  cry. 

"I  don't  think  it  would  do  for  me  to  go  to  hell,  pa," 
said  the  lad  of  the  party. 

"Why?"  queried  the  sire. 

301 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

"Oh,"  said  the  boy,  "the  light  would  hurt  my  eyes  so, 
I  couldn't  sleep." 

Getting  an  early  morning  start,  we  trailed  down  and 
out  of  the  long  canyon  into  Roaring  Fork  Valley,  and  at 
four  o'clock  arrived  in  Aspen,  a  famous  silver  camp  of 
early  days.  A  crowd  soon  gathered,  and  I  had  no  sooner 
announced  a  street  lecture  for  that  evening  than  the  news 
began  to  spread  all  over  town.  Here  supplies  must  be 
bought,  some  business  transacted  under  my  advertising 
contract,  and  Mac  shod.  For  the  first  time  that  jackass 
kicked  the  blacksmith.  When  I  reprimanded  him,  he 
claimed  the  man  had  pounded  a  nail  in  his  hoof  almost 
to  the  knee,  and  added,  for  the  smith's  benefit,  "Shoe  an 
ass  with  ass's  shoes,  but  set  them  with  horse  sense." 
Which  I  thought  sound  philosophy. 

At  the  appointed  hour  and  place  for  my  lecture  the 
street  was  choked  with  an  eager  audience.  Coonskin 
had  been  instructed  to  have  the  donkey  there,  saddled 
and  packed,  by  eight  sharp.  They  failed  to  appear.  So 
impetuous  and  enthusiastic  were  the  crowding,  cheering 
citizens  that  I  mounted  a  block  and  began  to  talk.  Sud- 
denly, I  was  interrupted  by  a  shout,  "The  donkeys  are 
coming,"  and  at  once  the  crowd  became  so  hilarious  that 
I  had  to  cease  speaking  till  my  outfit  arrived.  "Mac 
A'Rony!— Mac  A'Rony!— Damfino!— Cheese!"  echoed 
and  re-echoed,  as  a  number  of  boys  ran  to  meet  the 
donks.  It  occurred  to  me  that  Coonskin  might  soon 
have  his  hands  full,  so  I  hastened  to  his  side.  But,  ere  I 
arrived  my  handsome  Colt's  revolver  was  stolen  from  its 
holster,  buckled  to  Mac's  saddle  horn.  As  Coonskin 
was  riding  Cheese  and  trailing  the  others  he  could  not 
guard  against  the  theft,  but  I  blamed  him  for  not  heed- 
ing my  instructions  always  to  leave  the  guns  at  my  head- 

302 


TREED   BY   A   SILVERTIP   BEAR. 

quarters.  It  was  the  only  article  lost  by  theft  on 
my  journey.  The  four  marshals  on  duty  hoped  to  recover 
the  revolver,  and  forward  it  to  me,  but  I  never  received  it. 

When  I  had  finished  my  lecture,  Judge  S passed 

his  hat  and  handed  me  a  liberal  collection.  And  as  my 
outfit  trailed  out  of  town  toward  Roaring  Fork,  a  young 
man  wheeled  up  with  us  and  gave  me  a  silver  nugget 
scarf  pin.  In  Aspen,  as  in  Leadville,  I  disposed  of  many 
photos. 

It  was  a  fine  evening.  I  was  promised  a  smooth  trail 
through  to  Glenwood  Springs.  We  were  to  travel  ten 
miles  that  night,  and  hence  would  need  to  sleep  late  next 
day.  So  I  advised  Coonskin  to  set  the  alarm  clock,  just 
purchased,  for  ten  a.  m. 


303 


CHAPTER  XLL 


And  riding  down  the  bank,  he  spurred  into  the  water.— The 
Fair  God. 

When,  at  the  conclusion  of  Pod's  Aspen  lecture,  he 
gave  the  signal  for  our  outfit  to  "move  on,"  I  breathed 
a  sigh  of  relief.  I  abhor  crowds;  I  despise  shoemakers. 
They  say  that  an  ingrown  nail  is  painful;  an  inpounded 
nail  is  worse.  Pod  said  he  wouldn't  care  if  I  had  lock- 
jaw; for  then  I'd  have  to  keep  my  mouth  shut. 

"You  ordered  Bridget  to  call  us  at  eight  in  the  morn- 
ing, didn't  you?"  Pod  asked  of  his  valet,  when  we  were 
a  mile  out  of  town. 

"I  did  that,"  Coonskin  replied.  Who  could  Bridget 
be?  Surely  the  turtle,  Bill,  hadn't  changed  his  name. 
I'd  hate  to  have  him  pull  me  out  of  bed. 

"Have  the  men  got  a  woman  stowed  away  in  their 
luggage?"  queried  Cheese;  "I  hear  'em  talking  of  some 
biddy." 

"It's  scandalous!"  exclaimed  Miss  Damfino,  and  Miss 
Skates  said  she  thought  so,  too.  These  words  were 
hardly  spoken  when,  about  eight  o'clock,  we  were  stroll- 
ing peacefully  down  the  trail  along  the  high  bank  of 
Roaring  Fork  River  in  the  darkness,  something  with  a 
shrill  voice  suddenly  began  to  scream  and  kick  up  a  ter- 
rible racket  in  one  of  my  saddle  bags,  electrifying  my 
whole  being.  Was  Pod  bewitched?  Or  was  some  de- 
mon upon  me?  I  asked  both  questions  at  once,  and  not 

304 


NEARLY   DROWNED   IN   THE   ROCKIES. 

waiting  for  an  answer,  ran  through  the  darkness  blind 
with  terror.  Ears  back,  tail  out  straight,  and  legs  spin- 
ning, I  failed  to  see  the  trail,  or  hear  my  master's 
"Whoas!"  I  only  thought  the  devil  was  after  me,  and 
flew  through  the  air  like  a  meteor.  Soon  the  trail  turned 
to  the  right,  but  I  kept  on  straight  ahead,  and  suddenly 
tumbled,  tail  over  ears,  down  the  steep  bank  into  the 
rushing  river,  my  master  still  holding  on  to  reins  and 
saddle  horn.  How  deep  I  dived  I  can't  say.  The  damp- 
ness poured  into  my  ears  and  mouth  and  drowned  my 
thoughts,  and  just  when  I  had  begun  to  think  of  my  past 
life,  I  came  to  the  surface  with  that  demon  still  yelling 
and  clinging  to  the  saddle  or  to  Pod.  Then  a  terrific 
jerk  on  my  bit  brought  me  to  my  senses,  and  I  swam 
to  the  nearest  shore.  It  was  a  long,  hard  pull.  Pod 
clung  to  me  as  though  I  were  a  life  buoy,  and  when  I 
climbed  on  to  the  bank  out  of  breath,  the  screaming  de- 
mon chased  me  half  way  up  to  the  trail. 

Pod's  mouth  was  a  flame  of  fire,  but  aimed  more  at 
Coonskin  than  at  me.  Reckon  he  thought  me  too  wet 
to  burn. 

The  whole  outfit,  including  dog  and  turtle,  awaited  us 
with  bated  breath. 

"We've  found  out  who  Bridget  is,"  said  Cheese,  laugh- 
ing. 

"To  the  devil  with  Bridget!"  I  retorted.  "What  in  the 
name  of  Balaam  was  that  after  us?" 

"The  new  alarm  clock,  you  fool,"  replied  Cheese. 

I  was  too  full  for  utterance — too  full  of  water.  The 
Professor  was  a  sight,  even  in  the  darkness.  Never 
saw  him  so  mad. 

"Didn't  you  know  that  if  at  six  o'clock  you  set  the 
alarm  for  eight  in  the  morning,  it  would  ring  at  eight  in 

305 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

the  evening?"  he  vociferated,  wildly  gesticulating  at  his 
scared  and  speechless  attendant. 

Cautiously  through  the  darkness  we  proceeded  for  a 
couple  of  miles,  Pod  walking  to  prevent  taking  cold,  he 
said.  Then  we  were  steered  to  an  old  cedar  stump,  where 
we  camped.  Bridget's  alarming  voice  had  made  a  fearful 
impression  upon  me.  Several  times  on  the  way  to  camp 
I  imagined  a  demon  was  after  me,  and  shied  into  the 
sage.  Why,  I've  seen  roosters  and  hens  chase  all  over  a 
half  acre  lot  and  jump  a  fence  after  losing  their  heads, 
simply  from  nervousness. 

The  cedar  stump  was  set  ablaze,  and  as  soon  as  Pod 
had  pitched  the  tent,  he  began  walking  around  it  dressed 
in  his  only  suit  of  clothes,  trying  to  get  thoroughly  dry. 
He  was  not  in  a  good  mood  to  talk  with,  so  I  kept  aloof. 

Next  morning  the  valley  and  the  mountains  hemming 
it  in  revealed  a  beautiful  and  bountiful  nature.  Al- 
though alfalfa  seemed  to  be  the  chief  crop,  fields  of 
wheat  and  oats  waved  in  the  breeze.  It  was  August;  the 
harvest  had  hardly  begun.  The  vendure  on  the  moun- 
tains was  not  less  lavish  in  its  rare  autumnal  tintings 
than  were  the  internal  colorings  of  the  hills  with  metals 
— copper,  lead,  silver  and  gold.  Now  the  trail  would 
hug  the  river  so  closely  I  could  hear  the  roaring  flood, 
and  again  the  current  would  sink  beyond  reach  of  ear 
or  eye,  suddenly  to  burst  upon  us  later. 

The  sun  grew  hotter  with  every  hour's  travel;  the  trail 
became  more  dusty;  the  prickly  sage  looked  more 
browned  and  withered. 

One  evening,  under  the  screen  of  darkness,  the  men 
pitched  camp  conveniently  near  to  an  alfalfa  field,  hay- 
stack, and  potato  cellar.  The  sage,  while  much  seared 
by  the  sun,  was  yet  too  young  and  green  to  burn,  so 
when  Coonskin  dropped  two  large  boards  in  front  of  the 

306 


NEARLY   DROWNED   IN   THE   ROCKIES. 

tent  Pod  was  elated.  The  fellow  said  he  had  unroofed 
a  tater  cellar.  In  view  of  the  shady  deed,  Pod  kindled 
the  fire  on  the  shady  side  of  the  tent  and  proceeded  to 
cook  the  supper.  We  hadn't  time  to  make  our  escape 
next  morning  before  we  heard  the  rattle  of  a  wagon 
approaching.  Presently  a  team  of  horses,  driven  by  a 
short,  morose-looking,  black-whiskered  farmer,  stopped 
right  in  front  of  camp.  Instinct  told  me  he  was  the 
owner  of  the  property  we  had  "squatted  on"  and  in- 
tended to  make  trouble.  Pod  was  seldom  embarrassed, 
but  when  so  he  appealed  to  Coonskin's  wit  and  gall  for 
the  desired  relief.  The  man  climbed  out  of  the  wagon 
and  walked  toward  the  tent,  until  he  saw  Don,  and 
stopped  short. 

Coonskin  winked  slyly  at  Pod  and  me  under  his  hat- 
brim,  and  said  to  our  caller,  "Walk  right  in,  sir,  and 
make  yourself  miserable;  the  dog  won't  hurt  you;"  then 
Pod  said  a  "Good  morning"  sweet  and  juicy.  The 
stranger's  sharp  eyes  surveyed  the  remaining  board  and 
the  cremation  ashes  of  the  departed,  and  nodded  sourly. 

I  was  now  saddled,  and  Coonskin  was  buckling  on  his 
belt  with  revolvers  and  hunting  knife.  Said  he  to  our 
guest,  "This  traveling  round  the  world  on  a  bet  ain't 
what  it's  cracked  up  to  be." 

"Reckon  not,"  returned  the  stranger.  And  he  asked, 
"Big  bet." 

"N-o-o,  only  fifteen  thousand  dollars." 

The  stranger  grunted,  as  he  mentally  appraised  the 
value  of  his  lumber,  and  then  regarded  the  men  as  if  he 
wanted  to  put  a  price  on  their  heads. 

"Wouldn't  been  so  bad,"  Coonskin  resumed,  "If  one 
of  our  original  party  hadn't  got  scalped  by  Esquimaux 
when  crossing  the  Arabian  Desert." 

"I  want  ter  know!"  the  stranger  exclaimed.     "How 

307 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

did  it  happen?"  As  he  spoke,  he  sat  down  near  the  board 
and  whittled  a  stick,  now  and  then  eyeing  Coonskin  with 
overdue  interest. 

"Well,  you  see,"  the  valet  began,  "we  were  trailing  on 
the  desert  at  night,  because  the  sun  in  India  is  so  hot, 
when  he  suddenly  hailed  what  we  took  to  be  a  caravan. 
But  instead  of  one  outfit,  there  were  three,  all  of  'em 
enemies  of  each  and  tother— Hottentots,  Spaniards,  and 
Solomon  Islanders,  all  at  lagerheads.  Say,  weren't  we 
in  a  nice  mess!" 

"  Tears  so,"  the  farmer  ejaculated,  with  wrapt  phiz. 

"At  once  all  tried  to  capture  us,"  Coonskin  con- 
tinued, "but  pretty  soon  fell  to  fighting  among  them- 
selves ;  and  that'e  how  we  escaped.  But  Jack  got  shot." 
Coonskin  looked  as  if  he  had  lost  his  last  friend. 

"Poor  Jack,"  muttered  Prof.,  shaking  his  head  sor- 
rowfully. 

I  saw  plainly  the  story  had  touched  the  stranger's 
heart.  Purty  sad,  wasn't  it  boys?"  he  commented. 
"Didn't  ye  have  no  shootin'  irons  along?"  he  asked. 

"Should  say  we  did — a  whole  battery,"  said  the  valet. 
"We  shot  several  of  the  black  demons  (here  waxing  ex- 
cited as  he  recalled  the  harrowing  spectacle),  but  what 
was  a  thousand  of  them  compared  with  one  Jack!"  And 
Coonskin  tickled  me  in  the  ribs. 

"Ner  a  hundred  Jacks,"  returned  the  farmer  absent- 
mindedly,  and  looking  thoughtful.  Then  Pod  said  it 
was  time  to  be  going,  and  offered  to  pay  the  farmer  for 
the  board  he  had  much  enjoyed;  but  the  latter  said  he 
"didn't  want  no  pay,"  and,  after  offering  Pod  and  Coon- 
skin his  plug  of  tobacco,  clambered  into  his  wagon  and 
drove  off. 

Then  we  made  for  Glenwood  Springs. 


308 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

BY   PYE   POD. 

You  may  nail  it  on  the  pailing  as  a  mighty  risky  plan 
To  set  your  judgment  on  the  clothes  that  cover  up  a  man; 
It's  a  risky  piece  of  business,  for  you'll  often  come  across 
A  fifty-dollar  saddle  on  a  twenty-dollar  hoss.         — Old  Saw. 

We  reached  Glenwood  Springs  the  week  of  the  an- 
nual races,  and  I  piloted  my  outfit  to  a  prominent  corner 
in  town.  At  once  a  crowd  gathered.  After  making  a 
few  remarks  about  my  trip  and  promising  a  lecture  be- 
fore leaving  town,  I  inquired  for  the  leading  hotel. 

"The  Colorado,"  answered  a  chorus.  Then  a  man  in 
shirtsleeves,  sombrero,  and  high  boots  edged  to  my 
side,  and  whispered,  "Prof,  there's  a  dollar  house 
t'other  end  of  town.  The  tax  is  five  dollars  a  day  at  the 
Colorado." 

"How  much  can  I  make  at  the  dollar  house?"  I  asked. 

My  informant  shrank  into  his  clothes.  "I  don't  be- 
lieve you  can  make  your  salt,"  he  answered. 

I  left  my  outfit,  and  rode  Mac  to  the  post  office.  I 
had  not  been  indoors  long  before  I  heard  loud  cheers 
and  laughter  in  the  street.  I  rushed  out,  thinking  some- 
body was  making  sport  with  my  donkey,  and  was  sur- 
prised to  see  Don  leading  by  the  reins  that  incorrigible 
flirt,  Mac  A'Rony,  up-street  toward  the  post  office.  He 
had  strolled  to  the  next  corner  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  a  prepossessing  donk  of  the  opposite  sex,  and  my 
faithful  dog,  conscious  of  his  responsibilities,  was  doing 
his  duty. 

309 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

The  town  is  situated  on  the  east  bank  of  the  Grand 
River;  across,  some  distance  from  the  water,  stands  the 
Hotel  Colorado.  An  iron  bridge  spans  the  stream,  and 
across  it  I  led  my  caravan  to  the  hotel  in  time  for  din- 
ner. As  I  dismounted,  the  guests  on  the  veranda  hur- 
ried to  the  railing  and  whispered  to  one  another;  I  paid 
no  heed,  but,  giving  my  valet  instructions  to  care  for 
my  animals,  hurried  in.  The  clerk  extended  his  hand  in 
greeting. 

"Just  on  time,"  said  he.    "Lunch  is  awaiting  you." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  sensation  I  caused  when  I 
entered  the  dining  room.  A  sweeping  glance  detected 
every  eye  upon  me.  I  sat  at  the  nearest  table  opposite 
two  dudes  who  almost  choked  to  death  when  I  reached 
for  the  menu  card.  Even  the  pretty  waitresses  stopped  as 
if  struck.  One  of  the  poor  girls  dropped  a  tray  of  dishes. 
Every  countenance  said  plainly,  "How  did  it  drift  in?" 
Several  pretty  girls  at  the  next  table,  seasonably  gowned 
in  silks  and  muslins,  whispered  and  giggled  audibly. 

Presently  the  dudes  considered  there  wasn't  room  for 
us  three  at  the  table,  and  changed  their  seats  so  pre- 
cipitately that  one  of  them  stumbled  over  the  legs  of  his 
chair  and  broke  his  fall  by  first  breaking  a  cup.  As  they 
now  faced  the  pretty  girls,  their  prospect  was  more  in- 
viting, if  not  picturesque.  My  hair  and  beard  were  long, 
one  of  my  coat-sleeves  threatened  to  come  off  with  the 
slightest  cough  or  sneeze;  I  looked  like  one  who  had 
experienced  hardship  and  rough  traveling. 

This  is  a  treat,  I  thought,  as  I  divided  my  interest  be- 
tween the  diners  opposite  and  my  menu  card.  I  was 
famished.  The  waitresses  kept  aloof  from  me. 

Suddenly  my  ear  caught  the  words  spoken  by  one  of 
the  dudes,  "He  acts  as  if  he  owned  the  dining  room,  and 
had  first  bid  on  the  hotel."  I  smiled.  Just  then  I  felt  a 

310 


DONKEY   SHOOTS   THE   CHUTES. 

hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  recognized  the  head-waiter, 
who,  a  moment  before,  had  left  the  room  probably  to  see 
the  hotel  clerk.  He  was  all  smiles,  as  he  asked  if  I  was 
being  waited  upon.  I  said  I  was  not. 

"I-I-I  beg  your  humble  pardon,"  he  stammered,  and 
off  he  danced.  The  next  minute  a  half  dozen  waitresses 
were  assailing  me  for  my  order.  Finally  I  was  lavishly 
served;  then  there  was  dissatisfaction  at  the  next  table. 
The  dudes  began  to  complain  because  that  "hobo"  re- 
ceived every  attention  while  they  were  neglected. 

Having  received  an  invitation  to  the  races,  I  did  not 
tarry  longer  than  necessary.  I  was  sure  things  would  be 
different  when  I  returned  for  dinner.  And  such  a  change 
as  there  was!  I  was  assigned  to  a  table  at  which  was  a 
bevy  of  girls  and  two  or  three  gentlemen.  My  seat  had 
evidently  been  reserved  for  me  by  request.  I  didn't  have 
to  wait  for  the  waitresses  to  pass  me  things,  the  girls  did 
that.  I  was  treated  like  a  hero,  and  almost  embarrassed 
with  attentions.  When  I  retired  to  dress  for  the  ball  given 
in  my  honor  by  the  young  women  of  Glenwood,  I  fell  in 
a  chair  and  laughed  till  my  sides  ached.  What  fun  the 
study  of  human  nature  does  afford ! 

The  evening  paper  stated  that  the  famous  donkey  trav- 
eler, Professor  Pythagoras  Pod  would  be  the  guest  of 
the  evening,  and  was  expected  to  appear  in  traveling 
clothes,  spurs,  and  belt  guns.  And  so  I  attired  myself, 
arriving  at  the  hall  at  eight-thirty,  and  was  at  once  in- 
troduced to  one  and  all  of  the  fair  gathering.  I  danced 
myself  completely  out.  When  supper  was  announced  I 
was  glad.  Had  I  traveled  thirty  miles  that  day  I  couldn't 
have  felt  more  fatigued.  It  was  almost  eleven  o'clock 
when  I  set  out  for  my  hotel. 

One  of  the  attractions  at  the  Colorado  is  the  great  out- 
of-doors  natatorium,  between  the  river  and  the  hotel.  I 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

had  hardly  crossed  the  bridge  when  I  heard  Mac's  bray 
issuing  from  that  quarter.  The  darkness  and  thick 
foliage  obscured  the  view,  but  I  heard  splashing  of  water, 
and  laughter,  and  another  wild  bray,  and  concluded  some 
mischief  was  on  the  boards  among  the  college  students 
who  were  guests  of  the  hotel.  Quickening  my  pace,  I 
stole  through  the  shrubbery  to  the  reservoir,  and  beheld 
a  sight  to  cause  me  fright.  There  was  a  high  chute  be- 
side the  natatorium,  and  a  staircase  for  the  bathers  to 
climb  to  the  top  "to  shoot  the  chutes."  There,  almost 
at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  was  my  misused  donkey,  being 
carried  to  the  source  of  the  water  raceway  by  several 
young  men,  the  donkey  braying  and  kicking  frantically, 
the  men  struggling  in  the  throes  of  smothered  laughter 
as  well  as  with  their  asinine  burden.  By  the  time  I  had 
collected  my  senses,  Mac  was  deposited  on  the  platform. 

"Heigh,  there!"  I  yelled  at  the  top  of  my  voice.  "Drop 
that  donkey,  you  ruffians!"  They  dropped  him.  And 
down  he  came,  tobogganing  over  the  slippery,  watery 
chute,  over  and  over,  and  landing  in  the  pond,  flat  on  his 
back.  It  didn't  take  long  for  Mac  to  finish  his  bath. 
When  he  rose  to  the  surface  he  snorted  and  brayed 
louder  than  ever,  and  in  swimming  about  to  find  a  place 
he  could  climb  out  he  chased  every  bather  on  to  land. 
One  of  the  men  got  a  rope,  and,  several  others  assisting, 
pulled  the  frightened  animal  out.  Without  stopping  to 
discuss  the  affair,  I  led  Mac  to  his  corral. 

The  following  morning  a  committee  persuaded  me  to 
deliver  a  lecture  to  the  guests  of  the  hotel.  A  notice  was 
posted,  announcing  Pod's  lecture  to  be  delivered  at  2  p.  m. 
on  the  broad  veranda  in  front  of  the  hotel  office. 

I  talked  in  my  happiest  vein.  The  interest  manifested 
by  my  fair  auditors  would  have  inspired  any  lecturer. 

I  concluded  with  these  words:    "It  is  very  gratifying 

312 


"And  floated  on  Salt  Lake." 


"Skull  \\illcy  desert ;  tir  stopped  to  feed  and  rest. 


DONKEY   SHOOTS   THE   CHUTES. 

for  me  to  know  so  many  are  interested  in  Mac  A'Rony's 
welfare.  I  hope  to  take  him  through  with  me  to  the 
Pacific.  I  do  not  like  it  to  appear  that  I,  while  a  guest 
of  the  hotel,  am  taking  undue  advantage  of  its  privileges, 
but  if  there  are  any  among  you  who  desire  a  souvenir  of 
our  novel  trip  I  have  a  few  pictures  which  may  be  pro- 
cured at  twenty-five  cents  each.  I  now  formally  bid  you 
all  adieu." 

The  souvenirs  went  like  hot  cakes.  Presently  a  sweet 
girl  who  had  purchased  three  pictures,  with  beaming  eyes 
and  a  winsome  smile,  asked,  "Oh,  Mr.  Pod,  won't  you 
please  put  your  autograph  on  these  photos?" 

"Certainly,"  I  replied,  "but  each  signature  will  cost 
twenty-five  cents  extra."  .  I  said  it,  just  to  see  how 
would  take. 

"Of  course,  I'll  be  glad  to  pay  for  the  autographs,"  the 
maid  returned,  and  handed  me  the  photos  to  sign.  And 
I  was  kept  busy  signing  pictures  until  my  hand  ached. 

My  last  afternoon  in  Glenwood  was  a  busy  one.  I  de- 
cided to  heed  the  admonitions  of  many  Westerners  I  had 
met,  to  avoid  the  Green  River  desert,  a  barren  waste  of 
shifting  sands,  utterly  devoid  of  water,  stretching  a  hun- 
dred and  thirty  miles  and  more,  and,  instead,  to  trail 
northwesterly  via  Meeker,  White  River,  and  the  Ute 
Reservation.  On  the  Meeker  route  I  was  promised  fair 
grazing  and  ample  water  supply  every  twenty  or  thirty 
miles  of  the  distance  to  the  Mormon  City. 

It  was  five  in  the  p.  m.  when  Coonskin  brought 
my  caravan  to  the  hotel,  and  saluting  me,  said,  "Pro- 
fessor, your  donkeys  are  ready  and  packed  for  the  jour- 
ney." The  guests  of  the  hotel,  with  few  exceptions,  were 
assembled  to  witness  the  start,  and  my  dog  in  apprecia- 
tion of  the  compliment  strode  grandly  among  thu  'adies 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

and  kissed  their  hands,  and  I  believe  bade  every  one  an 
affectionate  farewell. 

I  thought  this  a  good  time,  for  once  on  my  trip,  to  put 
on  stylish  "airs."  I  had  never  called  upon  Coonskin  to 
exercise  the  duties  of  a  valet,  in  the  strictest  sense.  As 
soon  as  he  buckled  the  guns  on  the  saddles,  I  dropped 
my  ragged  canvas  leggings  at  his  feet,  put  forth  a  foot, 
and  gave  him  a  significant  look.  Immediately  the  gal- 
lant "Sancho"  knelt  down  on  one  knee  and  proceeded  to 
lace  the  leggings  on  me,  creating  much  amusement.  I 
then  made  a  short  farewell  address,  got  into  Mac 
A'Rony's  saddle,  and  gave  the  word  to  start.  Such  a 
cheer  as  arose  from  the  ladies  that  lined  the  veranda! 
I'll  bet  there  wasn't  one  who  would  have  missed  the 
event  for  a  five  dollar  note. 

Hugging  the  Grand  River  (the  only  hugging  I  had 
done  in  that  section)  until  after  dark,  we  trailed  through 
the  sage  until  ten  o'clock,  when,  discovering  a  fair  graz- 
ing place,  I  ordered  camp. 

My  donkeys  had  just  rested  two  days,  so  next  day,  the 
28th  day  of  August,  I  made  them  trail  fast  and  far,  in 
spite  of  the  heat.  It  was  five  o'clock  when  we  pitched 
camp  near  the  Scott  Ranch. 

I  had  observed  a  cow  and  several  hens  about  the 
ranch.  If  I  couldn't  get  milk,  I  might  still  obtain  fresh 
eggs,  and  vice  versa.  Not  waiting  to  unpack  for  a  can, 
I  set  out  for  the  house  and  knocked  at  the  back  door. 

"Come  in,"  called  a  female  voice. 

I  entered  the  kitchen  with  hat  in  hand  and  politely 
said,  "How  to  do?"  The  sober-faced  housewife  did  not 
pause  in  her  duties  as  she  welcomed  me  to  be  seated. 

"I  came  to  purchase  some  milk  and  eggs,"  I  said  pres- 
ently. 

"Ain't  got  no  eggs  er  milk  to  spare  jest  now,"  she 

3i4 


DONKEY   SHOOTS   THE   CHUTES. 

replied;  "cows  all  dried  up."  My  face  reflected  my  dis- 
appointment. 

"Are  all  your  hens  dry  also?"  I  asked,  as  the  woman 
deluged  a  big  white  cochin  with  a  pan  of  dish-water. 

"That  one  ain't,"  she  returned,  smiling  at  her  play  on 
a  word  and  a  hen.  The  incident,  trifling  as  it  was,  served 
to  break  the  "ice."  I  introduced  myself  and  explained 
my  journey;  the  woman  was  interested;  she  had  read 
about  me.  She  told  me  to  make  myself  "at  home,"  and, 
admitting  that  one  cow  still  gave  milk  and  she  could 
spare  me  a  little,  she  went  to  the  creamery.  When  she 
handed  me  a  pail  of  milk,  I  offered  to  pay  for  it,  and 
persuaded  her  to  sell  me  a  loaf  of  bread.  But  I  had 
hardly  started  for  camp  with  my  precious  purchases  than 
I  was  surrounded  by  a  swarm  of  yellow-jackets  which 
proceeded  to  alight  on  the  rim  of  the  pail  and  my 
hand.  I  dropped  the  milk  instantly,  if  not  sooner.  The 
woman's  exclamation  of  indignation  embarrassed  me.  I 
explained  and  apologized,  while  my  kind  "hostess"  tried 
to  convince  me  of  the  docility  of  those  yellow-jackets; 
from  her  account  one  might  suppose  they  were  merely  a 
dwarf  species  of  canary  birds.  But  finally  she  forgave 
my  indiscretion,  refilled  the  pail,  and  handing  it  to  me, 
told  me  the  insects  were  perfectly  harmless,  and  were  not 
known  to  sting  anybody,  unless  they  were  harmed.  I 
thanked  the  woman  for  her  exceptional  generosity  and 
rare  treatise  on  "insectology"  and  again  started  for  my 
tent,  resolved  to  preserve  that  milk  at  any  cost.  But  I 
soon  wavered  from  my  resolve;  the  pail  wavered,  too.  I 
couldn't  change  it  from  one  hand  to  the  other  fast 
enough  to  elude  those  docile  yellow- jackets.  Then  I  hit 
upon  a  new  idea;  it  looked  practical  enough.  I  spilled 
some  milk  on  the  ground,  and  after  weaning  many  hor- 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

nets  from  the  pail,  I  lifted  the  latter,  covered  it  with  my 
hat,  and  made  for  camp. 

Now  once  in  a  while  a  babe  is  found  hard  to  wean; 
the  same  may  be  said  of  a  yellow-jacket.  One  buzzing 
fellow,  doubtless  young  and  feeble,  and  being  tired  from 
long  flight,  sat  on  my  bald  pate  to  rest,  there  to  die  a 
violent  death.  On  that  spot,  although  his  remains  were 
removed,  was  soon  reared  a  monumental  mound,  sacred 
to  his  memory.  I  yelled  before  I  remembered  it  was  not 
manly  to  do  such  a  thing,  and  the  good  madam  hasten- 
ing to  my  aid,  if  not  relief,  carried  the  pail  of  milk  to  my 
tent,  also  bringing  with  her  a  can  of  jam.  Her  kind,  for- 
giving disposition  mentally  paralyzed  me.  My  own  un- 
precedented conduct  almost  made  me  hang  my  sore  head 
with  shame. 

We  men  dined  on  bread  and  milk,  and  at  seven  o'clock 
struck  out  for  Meeker.  We  had  passed  through  the  vil- 
lage of  Newcastle  when  some  fifteen  miles  from  the 
Springs;  and  there  were  invited  into  a  peach  orchard 
to  delight  our  palates  with  some  delicious  fruit,  but  no 
other  village  did  we  thread  on  our  route  to  White  River. 

The  last  twenty  miles  of  the  journey  led  us  across  a 
series  of  divides,  mesas  or  benches,  variously  called, 
and  between  these  miniature  watersheds  trickled  occa- 
sional rivulets  which  either  lost  themselves  in  the 
parched  soil,  or  struggled  on  till  they  joined  with  a 
larger  stream  to  reach  a  river.  As  the  tired  eye  wanders 
over  this  sun-scorched  wilderness,  strewn  with  what  ap- 
pears to  be  volcanic  matter,  he  imagines  he  sees  on  the 
black,  rock-strewn  butes  the  craters  of  long-extinct 
volcanos,  which  the  ravages  of  time  and  the  elements 
have  almost  leveled.  And  over  these  charred  piles  and 
the  intervening  plains  of  white  and  yellow  sage  one 
sometimes  sees  a  solitary  horse  or  steer  standing  be- 

316 


DONKEY   SHOOTS   THE   CHUTES. 

wildered,  as  if  before  impending  doom,  or  else  trending 
by  animal  instinct  some  tortuous,  obscured  trail  to  a 
hidden  spring. 

Meeker  takes  its  name  from  a  family,  massacred  by  the 
Indians  in  the  7o's.  Four  or  five  hundred  inhabitants  to- 
day compose  this  quiet  and  now  law-abiding  community, 
whose  chief  pursuits  appear  to  be  the  pursuit  of  wild 
steers,  horses,  fish  and  game.  White  River  flows  past  the 
town  on  its  picturesque  way  to  the  Grand,  the  latter  fur- 
ther on  joining  forces  with  the  Green  to  form  the  Col- 
orado. 

The  hills  about  Meeker  abound  with  large  game — 
mountain  lions,  bear,  bobcats,  and,  when  the  snow  comes, 
deer  and  elk.  I  was  informed  from  authentic  sources 
that  in  early  winter  the  deer  are  driven  by  the  snow  down 
the  river  in  to  Grand  Junction  valley  in  such  numbers 
that  ranchmen  have  had  to  stand  guard  over  haystacks 
with  guns  and  pitchforks.  One  woman  told  me  with 
modest  candor  that  she  had  actually  seen  her  husband 
catch  and  hold  a  deer  in  his  arms. 

After  leaving  Meeker  the  scenic  views  from  the  trail 
down  and  along  White  River  for  seventy  miles  are  mag- 
nificent and  imposing.  Rising  sheer  and  bold  from  the 
west  bank  of  this  deep  stream,  is  a  lofty  ridge  of  brown 
and  barren  mountains,  whose  mural  crests  of  red  and 
yellow  sandstone  and  limestone  formed  in  my  imagina- 
tion the  walls  and  watch-towers  of  castles  of  a  prehis- 
toric race,  while  the  placid  river  at  their  base  appeared 
to  be  a  mighty  moat  to  protect  the  towering  battlements 
from  menacing  foe. 

White  River  City  lies  some  twenty  miles  south  of 
Meeker.  It  has  great  possibilities.  If  another  house 
were  erected  there,  and  it  domiciled  as  many  people  as 
the  one  habitation  then  standing  did,  the  population  of 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

the  place  would  be  increased  100  per  cent.  Even  a  part 
of  that  house  was  converted  into  a  post  office  and  a  gen- 
eral store.  About  twenty-five  miles  from  White  River 
City  is  Angora,  another  town  containing  a  single  house. 
We  arrived  at  sunset.  The  proprietor  of  this  goat  ranch 
invited  me  to  pitch  camp  on  his  meadow  lot,  where  my 
animals  could  find  some  feed,  and  treated  me  to  a  leg  of 
goat.  He  possessed  a  herd  of  about  two  hundred  Angoras, 
and  derived  his  chief  livelihood  from  their  hair,  hides,  and 
"mutton,"  as  he  called  it.  I  found  the  meat  sweet  and 
tender;  it  was  hard  to  distinguish  it  from  lamb;  possibly 
because  I  had  forgotten  how  lamb  tasted.  My  host 
visited  my  camp-fire  and  entertained  me  with  many  inter- 
esting tales  of  adventure. 

Occasional  gardens  and  fields  of  alfalfa  are  seen  on  the 
east  bank,  all  due  to  irrigation.  Great  water-wheels, 
turned  by  the  river  current,  raise  cans  of  water  ten  feet 
and  more  and  empty  them  in  troughs,  so  conveying  the 
water  to  ditches. 

Ranchmen  had  cautioned  me  to  give  Rangely,  the 
next  settlement,  a  "wide  berth."  I  was  told  it  was  a  den 
of  outlaws  and  desperate  cowboys,  who  lived  by  "rust- 
ling" cattle  and  rebranding  them,  hunting  mavericks, 
(unbranded  calves)  and  following  other  nefarious  pur- 
suits. Instead  of  frightening  me  away,  these  accounts 
interested  me. 

At  four  in  the  afternoon  we  came  to  a  trail  branching 
and  leading  to  a  large  log  house  a  half  mile  away.  That 
was  Rangely ;  and  we  headed  for  it. 


318 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 
BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

I'll  say  of  it 

It  tutors  nature :  artificial  strife 
Lives  in  these  touches,  livelier  than  life. 

— Timon  of  Athens. 

Pod  was  always  looking  for  trouble.  The  fellow  who 
courts  trouble  finds  it  sooner  or  later.  I  brayed  myself 
hoarse  trying  to  persuade  my  reckless  master  to  give 
Rangely  a  wide  berth.  He  couldn't  think  of  it.  He  was 
anxious  to  meet  real  wild-and-woolly-west  cowboys  of 
the  old-time  style;  he  didn't  fear  the  worst  of  'em. 

"Hit  the  trail,  there,  Mac,"  he  said,  spurring  me  to- 
ward the  hotbed  of  cowboy  rascality.  Arriving  at 
the  house-saloon-store-city-hall-business-headquarters  of 
Rangely,  the  dozen  rough-looking  men  lounging  about 
swaggered  toward  us,  pleased-like  and  curious. 

"Prospectin'?"  one  inquired. 

"N-o-o-o,"  Pod  drawled;  "just  traveling."  That  was 
the  time  in  Pod's  life  when  he  ought  to  have  lied.  Then 
he  explained  where  he  was  from,  and  where  he  was 
bound,  but  did  not  say  that  he  was  a  darn  fool.  The 
cowboys  grunted,  or  nodded,  or  smiled,  some  winked  to 
each  other,  and  one  of  'em  nudged  another  in  the  ribs; 
everything  they  did  had  a  deep  meaning.  I  began  to 
tremble  for  Pod.  Would  they  shoot  at  his  heels  and  make 
him  dance?  Or  make  him  ride  a  bucking  bronco?  Or 
what? 

319 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

"Better  feed  yer  jacks,  Mister,"  said  one;  "ye'll  find 
grain  in  th'  shed  yender."  Pod  seemed  to  be  as  de- 
lighted as  we  donks. 

"The  Prof  is  going  to  catch  it  soon,"  Cheese  observed. 

"Serve  him  right,"  added  Damfino. 

Coonskin  left  us  to  feed  and  walked  to  the  house  with 
Pod.  Soon  afterward  they  returned  with  a  cowboy,  who 
said  I  had  a  good  shape,  asked  my  weight,  and  inquired 
if  I  was  sound  in  body  and  mind;  then  he  questioned 
Coonskin. 

"What  did  you  do  fer  yer  salt  'fore  ye  jined  th'  outfit?" 

"I  was  night  porter  in  a  hotel,"  was  the  reply. 

"What  was  ye  doin'  'fore  that?" 

"Railroading  some." 

"And  'fore  that?" 

"Painting." 

"Paintin'  what?" 

"Church  steeples." 

"Golly!  yer  jest  th'  man  we're  lookin'  fer." 

Coonskin  didn't  quite  understand  them,  but  he  did 
later. 

"Bridle  this  'ere  jack,"  said  the  cowboy,  meaning  me. 
Coonskin  bridled  me  and  rode  to  the  joint.  I  didn't 
think  anything  would  happen  to  me.  Several  more  cow- 
boys had  just  come  in  from  the  range,  and  soon  every 
man  of  the  gang  was  busy.  I  now  noticed  one  fellow 
mixing  red  paint;  three  or  four  were  making  two  lad- 
ders; another  one  appeared  with  an  armful  of  blankets; 
and  another  with  ropes,  and  presently  a  cowboy  climbed 
one  of  the  ladders  to  the  roof.  Something  was  doing, 
sure.  Pod  seemed  interested,  but  didn't  say  anything. 
Coonskin  looked  as  if  he  saw  his  finish.  I  giggled. 

Suddenly  came  a  surprise.  One  cowboy  wrapped  the 
blankets  round  my  body,  while  another  bound  them  on 

320 


PAINT     SIGN   WITH   DONK'S   TAIL. 

with  lariats;  another  trimmed  my  tail  with  a  pair  of 
sheepshears.  Then  ropes  were  fastened  to  my  body  and 
the  other  ends  thrown  to  the  men  on  the  roof.  Next  the 
ropes  were  slung  round  the  two  chimneys  at  both  ends 
of  the  roof,  and  thrown  to  the  gang  below.  At  once  the 
cowboys  grabbed  hold  and  pulled,  and  I  rose  in  the  air, 
until  my  head  bunked  against  the  eaves.  There  I  dangled 
and  swung  and  kicked  and  brayed.  Never  was  so  scared 
in  all  my  life.  Splinters  flew  as  I  kicked  holes  in  the 
house,  and  knocked  off  a  section  of  the  eaves.  The  cow- 
boys howled,  they  thought  it  so  funny.  But  the  real  cir- 
cus began  when  Pod  was  commanded  to  mount  a  ladder 
with  a  pail  of  red  paint,  and  using  my  tail  for  a  brush, 
paint  the  name  "  R  A  N  G  E  L  Y  "  on  that  house.  Coon- 
skin  was  made  to  climb  the  other  ladder  with  another 
pail  of  paint,  and,  he  being  a  professional  painter,  with  a 
real  paint  brush  go  over  Pod's  lettering  to  make  a  decent 
job  of  it. 

Well,  I  had  seen  Pod  mad,  but  never  as  mad  as  he  was 
then.  He  grabbed  rny  tail  and  started  to  paint  a  big  let- 
ter R,  when  I  up  and  kicked  the  pail  out  of  his  hands 
and  sent  red  paint  flying  all  over  half  the  cowboys;  not 
satisfied  with  this,  I  put  a  few  more  holes  in  the  house, 
and  finally  hit  the  ladder  and  spilled  Pod  on  the  ground. 
The  cowboys  thought  that  was  fun,  too;  some  were  so 
tickled  they  fired  off  their  revolvers.  Here  Coonskin 
was  told  to  divide  his  paint  with  Pod,  and  the  painting 
was  continued  on  the  letter  A. 

The  Prof  worked  as  well  as  he  could  with  such  a  nerv- 
ous paint  brush,  now  and  then  dodging  my  heels.  I 
admit  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing,  when  suddenly 
I  struck  my  master  in  the  stomach,  and  made  him  get 
down  from  the  ladder.  But  the  sign  had  to  be  finished. 
Up  the  ladder  again  Pod  climbed  like  a  man,  the  cow- 

321 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

boys  pulled  on  the  ropes,  dragging  me  along  so  that  my 
tail  could  be  brought  to  where  the  next  letter  should  be. 
Then  Pod  started  on  the  fourth  letter,  G.  By  this  time 
the  men  were  tugging  on  the  ropes  to  keep  me  in  posi- 
tion for  the  painter's  convenience.  Finally  the  men 
backed  from  the  house  and  pulled  me  away  from  its  side, 
and  Pod  turned  me  about  till  I  hung  the  other  end  to, 
and  began  the  fifth  letter,  E. 

Now  I  could  see  the  sign.  It  was  up  hill.  I  knew  it 
wouldn't  suit  those  cowboys,  and  I  expected  it  would 
have  to  be  painted  over.  It  wasn't  Pod's  fault,  it  wasn't 
mine.  As  I  was  gradually  pulled  along  the  eaves  the 
higher  I  was  raised,  because  there  was  no  pulley  on  the 
rope.  But  now  that  I  was  turned  about,  I  was  swung 
back  some,  and  the  E  had  to  be  painted  below  the  level 
of  the  first  four  letters.  L  and  Y  followed  each  other 
up  hill,  until,  just  as  the  job  was  finished,  I  hit  the  pail  a 
crack  with  my  right  foot  and  sprinkled  two  more  cow- 
boys. The  crowd  made  sport  of  them,  and  I  think,  after 
all,  those  cowboys  fared  worse  than  we  three  painters. 
Then  I  was  lowered  to  the  earth. 

To  my  surprise,  the  cowboys  liked  the  sign  immensely. 
One  pronounced  it  artistic,  another  said  it  was  odd  and 
people  would  notice  it,  and  several  agreed  that  it  was  the 
best  job  of  its  kind  they  ever  saw.  Pod  didn't  seem  to  be 
tickled  over  this  flattery,  but  Coonskin  was  puffed  up 
with  pride,  and  when  one  fellow  told  him  he  ought  to 
have  stuck  to  painting,  he  acknowledged  that  he  should 
have  done  so. 

When  the  two  started  down  the  ladders  the  cowboys 
called:  "Hold  on  there,  we  want  a  speech."  So  the 
Prof  made  a  speech.  Both  men  were  then  escorted  in- 
doors and  the  barkeeper  mixed  a  high-ball  in  a  pail  and 
sent  it  out  to  me.  I  was  "loony"  for  hours  afterwards. 

322 


PAINT     SIGN   WITH    DONK'S   TAIL. 

I  never  want  another  experience  like  that.  Pod  said 
afterward  it  was  his  first  and  last  painting.  He  thought 
the  cowboys  might  have  shot  a  pipe  out  of  his  mouth, 
but  he  hadn't  thought  they  could  condescend  to  such  a 
low  trick  as  to  make  him  paint  a  sign  with  his  donkey's 
tail.  The  cowboys  wanted  us  to  spend  the  night  with 
them,  but  Pod  replied  that  he  couldn't  tarry,  but  he  said 
he  was  much  obliged  for  all  their  courtesies.  About  dark 
we  said  good-bye,  and  pretending  we  would  travel  ten 
miles  that  evening,  pitched  camp  near  a  bridge  crossing 
White  River,  one  or  two  miles  from  Rangely.  At  dawn 
the  men  were  out  after  sage  hens.  They  saw  several,  but 
couldn't  get  a  shot  at  the  shy  creatures. 

We  started  early  and  traveled  over  a  desolate  wilder- 
ness of  sage  and  greasewood  in  a  torturing  sun,  and 
were  unpacked  at  one  o'clock  for  an  hour's  rest.  Some- 
times the  trail  led  through  deep  channels  in  the  hard- 
baked  sand  for  several  hundred  yards,  where  we  were 
obscured  from  view.  These  channels  wound  about 
through  the  desert  and  mesa,  as  if  they  might  be  the  beds 
of  dried-up  rivers ;  and  they  were  often  so  narrow  that 
had  we  met  a  wagon  either  our  outfit  or  the  vehicle 
would  have  had  to  turn  back.  We  came  across  quan- 
tities of  skeletons  and  skulls  of  horses  and  cattle  and 
wild  animals,  but  I  failed  to  see  any  donkey's  bones. 
Don  was  glad  when  in  these  cuts,  for  he  managed  there 
to  keep  in  the  shade,  while  trailing  in  the  open  he  was 
ever  trotting  ahead  to  hide  under  a  bush  where  three- 
fourths  of  him  was  exposed  to  the  sun. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  we  crossed  the 
backbone  of  the  plateau,  at  an  altitude  of  seven  thou- 
sand feet,  and  met  a  wagon  with  four  horses,  bound  for 
Leadville  with  honey.  The  driver  said  he  was  from  Ver- 
nal, some  sixty  miles  to  the  west.  Pod  thought  honey 

323 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

would  go  well  with  hot  cakes  for  supper,  and  after  some 
coaxing  got  the  freighter  to  break  a  case  and  sell  him  a 
half  dozen  boxes.  Then  the  question  arose,  how  could 
he  safely  carry  the  honey? 

"Good  idee  not  to  put  all  your  eggs  in  one  basket," 
Coonskin  remarked.  Pod  said  he  wouldn't.  He  tucked 
one  box  in  a  saddle-bag,  another  in  a  roll  of  blankets 
strapped  behind  his  valet's  saddle,  another  in  a  bag  of 
supplies  on  Skates,  and  the  last  two  he  packed  carefully 
in  the  canvas  awning.  The  men  conversed  and  smoked 
awhile,  when  the  stranger  happened  to  mention  that  he 
sometimes  dealt  in  hides.  Here  was  the  chance  the  men 
were  waiting  for.  The  bearskin  Skates  had  carried  from 
Turkey  Creek  belonged  to  the  poker-player,  but  he 
promised  half  what  he  should  get  for  it  to  Pod,  if  he 
would  let  the  donks  carry  it  till  disposed  of.  The  man 
said  he  was  willing  to  give  $60  for  a  fine  silvertip  skin, 
so  Coonskin  unpacked.  The  stranger  was  more  pleased 
with  it  than  he  would  admit,  and  hemmed  and  hawed 
some  about  the  price,  but  finally  paid  the  $60,  and  we 
moved  on. 

It  was  six  o'clock,  and  the  sun  was  sinking  behind  the 
distant  plain  when  the  buildings  of  the  K  ranch  loomed 
in  the  distance.  The  sound  of  galloping  horses  ap- 
proaching us  from  behind  caused  me  to  look  around,  and 
I  beheld  two  Indians  with  guns  in  hand,  yelling  and  ges- 
ticulating wildly  as  they  leaned  over  their  ponies'  necks, 
spurring  hard  to  catch  up  with  us.  When  Pod  and 
Coonskin  saw  the  Indians  after  them,  they  got  ready  to 
throw  up  their  hands.  Their  faces  were  as  chalky  as  an 
alkali  desert. 

"Have  you  seen  any  cattle  branded  U.  S.?"  one  of  the 
wild  men  inquired.  Pod  said  he  hadn't. 

324 


PAINT     SIGN   WITH    DONK'S   TAIL. 

"Where  you  from?"  questioned  the  half-breed.  Pod 
said:  " White  River  country." 

"Ah,  we  just  from  there — been  hunting  up  stolen  cat- 
tle," the  half-breed  replied.  "Found  them,  but  fellows 
wouldn't  give  them  up.  We've  done  our  duty;  the  fort 
must  deal  with  them  now." 

Pod  asked  what  fort,  and  was  told  Fort  Duchesne, 
some  seventy  miles  away.  We  learned  that  two  com- 
panies of  colored  troops  of  the  U.  S.  army  were  stationed 
there.  The  Indians  never  touched  us. 


325 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

BY   PYE   POD. 

"Dost  not  hear  the  neighing  of  horses,  the  blare  of  the  trumpets, 
the  beating  of  the  drums  ?" 

"I  hear  nothing,"  said  Sancho,  "but  a  great  bleating  of  ewes 
and  wethers."  And  this  was  true,  for  the  two  flocks  had  now 
come  up  near  them. — Don  Quixote. 

The  great  K  ranch  welcomed  us  just  before  dark.  My 
animals  were  generously  fed,  and  we  men  soon  joined 
the  Indian  policemen  at  supper  in  the  house. 

When,  next  morning,  the  foreman  saw  us  pack  the 
donkeys,  he  expressed  surprise  at  my  traveling  with  such 
a  luxurious  camp  outfit.  The  folding  table  and  chairs, 
awning,  many  blankets  and  other  articles  were  con- 
demned as  disgraceful  by  this  experienced  plainsman; 
so,  my  sensibilities  being  shocked  by  such  a  criticism,  I 
abandoned  a  hundred  pounds  of  luggage,  giving  the 
table,  chairs  and  superfluous  blankets  to  the  ranchman, 
and  selling  him  the  awning;  then  we  resumed  the  jour- 
ney. 

Green  River  was  twenty-five  miles  to  the  west.  The 
journey  was  even  more  monotonous  than  that  of  the  pre- 
vious day.  The  powdered  alkali  rose  in  our  faces  and 
penetrated  our  eyes  and  throats,  compelling  us  almost 
constantly  to  sip  from  our  canteens,  wrapped  in  wet 
cloths  to  keep  the  water  cool.  Frequently  my  dog  would 
jump  at  the  larger  canteens  in  the  panniers  and  bark  for 
a  drink.  I  loved  to  watch  him  lie  down  in  the  narrow 

326 


SWIM   TWO    RIVERS   IN   UTAH. 

shade  of  a  donkey,  and,  resting  his  chin  on  the  rim  of 
the  basin,  slowly  lap  the  frugal  measure  of  water  I  was 
able  to  spare  him. 

We  reached  Green  River  by  five,  and  waited  until  the 
ferryman  awoke  from  his  daydream  to  guide  the  flat-boat 
across  the  stream  for  us.  He  charged  me  only  two  dol- 
lars. I  thought  it  very  decent  of  him,  as  the  river  was 
too  deep  to  be  forded  and  he  controlled  the  only  ferry; 
our  only  alternative  was  to  swim  this  treacherous  stream. 
Several  overland  travelers  with  prairie  schooners  were  in 
camp  on  the  opposite  shore,  eastward  bound. 

I  paid  a  dollar  to  graze  my  animals  in  an  alfalfa  field 
for  the  night,  but  when  we  left  for  Vernal  next  morning 
every  donkey  had  the  stomach-ache.  They  grunted  and 
groaned  on  the  march  until  noontime,  and  deplored  their 
gluttony  with  sundry  brays  that  were  grating  on  the 
nerves. 

Vernal  is  a  veritable  oasis  in  a  desert,  nestling  in  a 
broad  and  fertile  valley,  which,  irrigated  from  the  numer- 
ous springs  in  the  mountains  forming  a  rampart  round  it, 
is  a  garden  of  vivid  green.  Farmhouses  dot  the  or- 
chards and  meadows  everywhere,  and  the  village  itself 
is  splendidly  shaded.  Honey  is  a  leading  industry;  one 
can  see  bee-hives  in  almost  every  door  yard. 

After  a  good  supper  with  a  stranger  who  offered  his  hos- 
pitality, we  two  strolled  about  the  flower-scented  streets 
in  the  cool  evening  air,  until  we  retired  to  a  downy  bed 
in  his  apartment  that  made  me  wish  my  trip  at  an  end. 
Here  were  no  mosquitoes.  The  fruits  of  this  valley  are 
prolific  and  delicious,  and  haven't  a  blemish;  the  water  is 
pure,  and  the  climate  healthful  and  exhilarating;  surely 
Vernal  received  its  name  from  Nature. 

The  frontier  post,  Fort  Duchesne,  lay  twenty-eight 
miles  to  the  south,  across  a  desert  waste.  A  few  miles 

327 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

beyond  Vernal  we  entered  the  Uintah  Indian  Reserva- 
tion. Further  on  we  saw  the  shacks  and  teepees  of  the 
Utes,  and  once  we  passed  a  party  of  this  treacherous  tribe 
on  their  ponies.  Apparently  taking  us  for  desperadoes, 
they  veered  off  to  some  distance  in  the  sage  and  gave  us 
a  "wide  berth."  The  strength  and  humility  of  their  little 
steeds  was  surprising.  Several  of  them  carried  four  and 
five  people,  the  buck  sometimes  with  a  boy  in  front  of 
him  and  his  squaw  astride  behind  him  with  a  papoose 
strapped  to  her  back,  and  a  boy  or  girl  behind  her.  When 
they  saw  Damfino  with  her  towering  pack  they,  too,  per- 
haps, did  some  wondering. 

We  crossed  the  bridge  spanning  the  Uintah  River  just 
before  sunset,  and  reached  the  guardhouse  of  the  fort 
just  as  the  bugle  sounded  retreat  parade.  To  my  sur- 
prise and  delight  the  officer  of  the  day,  Lieut.  Home, 
was  adjutant  and  chief  commissary,  and  better  still,  an 
old  classmate.  And  when,  after  parade,  I  saw  the  popu- 
lar officer  crossing  the  parade  ground  to  meet  me,  I  won- 
dered if  the  changes  wrought  in  our  appearance  by  the 
lapse  of  thirteen  years  would  make  us  both  unrecogniz- 
able. Our  meeting  was  amusing.  The  orderly  ushered 
me  into  the  officer's  presence,  and  I  advanced  and 
grasped  my  old  friend's  hand  in  a  manner  to  convince 
him  that  I  knew  him;  but  while  we  shook  hands  vigor- 
ously and  playfully  punched  each  other  in  the  shoulders, 
the  puzzled  man  could  not  speak  my  name. 

"You  old  fool!  Don't  you  know  me?"  I  asked,  still 
shaking  his  hand. 

"You  disgraceful  old  vagabond!  Of  course  I  know 
you;  but  blast  me  if  I  can  place  you,"  he  returned  grin- 
ning all  over.  "Who  are  you  for  heaven's  sake?  Where 
're  you  from,  and  how  did  you  get  here?  Speak,  man! 

328 


SWIM   TWO   RIVERS   IN   UTAH. 

Relieve  me  of  suspense,  if  you  don't  want  to  get  shot  by 
a  colored  regiment  of  United  States  troopers." 

"Why,"  I  asked,  "is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  recol- 
lect your  old  classmate;  the  famous  pillow  fight  at  S — 's 
Hotel?  The  mock  fight  with  our  old  chum,  Mike  H — n, 
in  my  room,  when  you  frightened  the  boy  from  West 
Virginia  half  to  death  with — ?" 

"Pod!  Blast  me,  if  it  ain't  Pod!"  exclaimed  the  Lieu- 
tenant. "Well,  well,  if  this  doesn't  beat  me.  Sit  down 
and  tell  me  about  it.  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  But  you  do 
look  rough.  Prospecting?  Or  fighting  Indians?  Or 
what?" 

I  explained.  My  animals,  I  said,  were  waiting  outside 
in  the  care  of  my  valet.  Home  rose  in  astonishment. 

"Traveling  overland  with  a  valet!"  he  exclaimed.  "You 
are  a  beautiful  looking  swell.  I  have  often  read  about 
you,  but,  blast  me !  if  I  ever  once  suspected  it  was  my  old 
chum  making  the  famous  trip.  Show  me  the  jackasses." 
Forthwith  I  escorted  the  laughing  Lieutenant  out  and 
presented  Mac  A'Rony. 

I  spent  two  enjoyable  days  at  Fort  Duchesne,  as  the 
guest  of  my  friend.  One  of  the  first  to  call  upon  me  was 
the  genial  Colonel  commanding.  He  asked  me  to  lecture 
to  the  residents  of  the  post.  Accordingly,  I  gave  my 
talk  that  evening  to  a  large  audience,  and  at  its  conclu- 
sion I  was  introduced  to  many  ladies  and  officers  of  the 
post  and  afterwards  entertained  at  the  army  club. 

The  following  day,  at  one  o'clock,  my  outfit  was  ready 
to  start.  The  donkeys  were  in  fine  fettle,  and  Don 
frisked  about  gayly,  eager  for  the  journey.  My  friend 
regretted  I  could  not  spend  a  month  with  him,  and  tucked 
a  package  in  my  saddle-bag  by  which  to  remember  him, 
and  many  officers  and  ladies  joined  with  him  in  wishing 
me  God-speed.  Then  we  waved  an  adieu  and  climbed 

329 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

the  long,  sage-covered  mesa,  toward  Heber  City,  a  hun- 
dred and  thirty-mile  march  without  a  habitation  in  view. 

Fort  Duchesne  was  still  in  sight  when  a  hailstorm 
struck  us.  The  donkeys  were  compelled  to  close  their 
eyes  and  turn  their  backs  to  the  fearful  charges  of  the 
merciless  elements,  while  we  men  pulled  our  hats  over 
our  eyes,  put  our  hands  in  our  pockets,  and  crouched 
under  our  animals;  still  we  were  severely  bruised,  and  our 
necks  and  arms  were  black  and  blue.  When  the  hail 
ceased,  the  leaden  clouds  poured  down  a  cold  rain,  which 
beat  in  our  faces  and  greatly  impeded  travel.  The  trail 
was  soon  converted  into  a  veritable  torrent;  the  sand  or 
rock-waste  soil  softened  into  mire  many  inches  deep, 
causing  the  stubbornly  faithful  burros  to  slip  and  stumble 
and  labor  as  they  never  did  before. 

We  had  journeyed  only  sixteen  miles  when,  at  eight 
o'clock,  we  pitched  camp  on  the  banks  of  the  swollen 
Lake  Fork  River.  The  night  was  black.  What  a  nasty 
predicament!  No  bottom  to  the  soil  anywhere;  the  mud 
and  water  reached  to  my  boot-tops.  Before  unpacking 
we  cut  sage  brush  and  trampled  it  into  a  large  square 
bed  two  feet  deep,  on  which  to  place  our  packs.  Then, 
picketing  the  animals,  we  tried  to  kindle  a  fire  with 
water-soaked  brush  sprinkled  with  coal  oil;  but  failed. 
Soon  a  ranchman  arrived  leading  his  horse,  and  said  he 
had  almost  lost  his  steed  while  fording  the  river  and  nar- 
rowly escaped  drowning.  He  joined  us  in  a  cold  supper 
of  canned  meat  and  corn,  whiskey  and  water,  then  rode 
away  in  the  pouring  rain. 

Our  bed  that  night  was  anything  but  inviting.  We 
could  not  pitch  the  tent.  The  soaked  sage  and  the  rain 
saturated  our  canvas  sleeping-bag  and  dampened  our 
clothing.  How  I  regretted  having  disposed  of  those 
"superfluous"  blankets  at  the  K  ranch.  We  were  not 

330 


SWIM   TWO    RIVERS   IN   UTAH. 

only  wet,  but  cold,  rolled  in  two  blankets  and  a  quilt. 
When  I  awoke  in  the  morning  I  even  wrung  the  water 
out  of  the  underwear  I  had  slept  in,  and,  also,  my  trou- 
sers and  coat  before  I  could  get  them  on,  and  then  in  the 
still  pouring  rain  ate  a  cold  breakfast,  saddled,  packed, 
and  resumed  the  trip. 

That  day  we  made  twenty :  miles,  and  "ran"  as  terrible 
a  gauntlet  of  thunderbolts  as  I  ever  witnessed.  Next  day 
it  became  necessary  to  swim  Lake  Fork.  Mac  said  it 
was  his  Rubicon  as  well  as  mine. 

The  current  was  swift,  and  roared  and  foamed  like  a 
mountain  torrent.  My  donkeys,  brought  to  the  water's 
edge,  reared  and  wheeled  and  rushed  intractably  into  the 
willows,  scraping  off  their  packs  on  the  miry  banks;  it 
required  a  half  hour  to  replace  and  securely  cinch  the 
luggage  on  the  beasts  so  that  it  might  not  be  washed 
away.  Then,  with  stout  willow  goads  and  howling  in- 
vectives, we  drove  the  braying  animals  into  the  flood  and 
followed  them,  fording  or  swimming  across  the  river. 
Cheese  was  carried  down  stream  and  almost  drowned. 

Gaining  the  nether  bank  we  tramped  through  storm 
and  mire  all  day,  making  eighteen  miles,  and  after  dark 
camped  with  the  party  of  a  prairie  schooner  at  the  foot 
of  a  hill,  where  we  found  seasoned  cedar  stumps  for  fuel, 
and  built  a  roaring  fire.  The  soil  there  was  more  solid, 
the  land  gently  sloping,  and  we  pitched  the  tent  near  the 
wagon  and  fire,  staked  the  donkeys,  and  joined  hands 
with  our  chance  acquaintances  to  provide  the  evening 
meal.  The  good  woman  of  the  party  gave  us  a  pie,  a 
can  of  beef  and  a  loaf  of  bread;  these  luxuries,  together 
with  boiled  potatoes  and  hot  coffee,  put  our  bodies  in 
prime  condition  for  a  sound  night's  sleep  in  wet  gar- 
ments and  bedding.  My  provisions  were  not  only  quite 

33i 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

spoiled  by  the  rain  and  river  water,  but  were  insufficient 
to  last  us  through. 

Rising  early,  we  breakfasted  in  the  rain,  and  traveled 
only  fifteen  miles,  swimming  the  Duchesne  River  once 
and  fording  it  twice  that  day.  The  stream  was  somewhat 
deeper  than  Lake  Fork,  but  the  current  less  swift,  and 
at  every  crossing  my  donkeys  rebelled.  Soon  after  the 
last  fording,  the  sun  broke  through  the  clouds,  and  gave 
us  an  opportunity  to  dry  ourselves  and  freight.  A  patch 
of  wild  meadow  enabled  my  animals  to  fill  their  empty 
stomachs  with  grass,  while  some  giant  sage  brush  soon 
dried  in  the  broiling  sun,  allowing  us  to  spread  our  blank- 
ets and  soaked  apparel  thereon.  We  unpacked,  and 
cooked,  and  when  our  clothes  were  dry  enough  to  feel 
comfortable  and  shrunken  enough  hardly  to  be  got  on, 
we  resumed  the  march.  Our  supplies  were  in  a  mess. 
Our  only  can  of  coal  oil  was  broken,  and  the  contents 
had  seasoned  every  eatable  not  canned.  The  forgotten 
boxes  of  honey  had  been  smashed,  and  everything  was 
gummed  with  it;  every  pack  smelled  like  a  bee-hive. 
The  honey  I  rolled  in  our  underwear,  diluted  with  the 
water  of  the  several  fords,  had  permeated  the  raiment  so 
thoroughly  that  now  the  heat  of  our  bodies  began  to 
warm  it  up,  and  my  clothes  were  soon  glued  to  my  skin. 

That  night  we  camped  on  Current  Creek,  after  ford- 
ing the  stream.  A  bear  appeared,  but  scampered  grunt- 
ing into  the  thicket,  my  dog  not  inclined  to  give  chase. 
Once  I  was  awakened  by  the  cry  of  a  mountain  lion,  and 
Coonskin  said  the  yelps  of  wolves  kept  the  dog  growling 
and  snarling  half  the  night  through. 

It  appeared  that  we  were  experiencing  the  fall 
equinox.  Wearily  traveling  through  another  day  of 
rain,  we  camped  for  the  night  near  a  bunch  of  dwarf 
cedars.  Now  the  rain  ceased  for  a  couple  of  hours,  and 

332 


SWIM   TWO    RIVERS   IN   UTAH. 

enabled  us  to  kindle  a  fire  and  cook  before  lightning 
played  on  every  hand  and  the  rain  descended  again.  Our 
largest  canteen  leaked  from  some  accident  it  had  re- 
ceived, and  our  surprise  and  despair  on  discovering  the 
emptied  receptacle  may  be  imagined.  What  should  we 
do  for  drinking  water?  I  had  not  more  than  asked  the 
question  than  my  eye  discerned  several  small  basins  in 
the  table  rocks  close  by.  These  basins  were  filled,  but 
were  so  shallow  that  only  by  dipping  the  water  with  a 
saucer  could  we  obtain  a  two-quart  can  of  the  precious 
liquid;  next  morning  we  secured  another  frugal  supply 
for  the  ensuing  day's  journey. 

Our  luggage  was  placed  under  two  cedars  for  protec- 
tion from  the  storm.  During  the  night  we  were  awakened 
by  the  terrific  crash  of  a  thunderbolt,  which  struck  so  near 
as  to  shock  us.  In  the  morning  I  saw  that  one  of  the 
trees  had  been  struck.  But  our  packs  were  uninjured, 
save  the  whiskey  bottle,  which  was  broken  and  its  pre- 
cious contents  lost.  Thus  the  sympathy  existing  between 
"Jersey  lightning"  and  Utah  lightning.  Another  day's 
tramp  over  a  muddy  trail,  and  a  night  camp  on  another 
roaring  stream,  Red  Creek;  our  supplies  quite  ex- 
hausted, we  boiled  some  onions  and  ate  them  with  the 
last  of  our  honey.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  eating  diphtheria 
medicine.  Next  morning  we  breakfasted  on  a  turkey 
buzzard  shot  by  Coonskin,  and  that  afternoon  my  jaded 
caravan  crossed  the  summit  of  the  plateau,  and  descended 
into  the  beautiful  Strawberry  Valley  in  the  glow  of  a 
gorgeous  sunset.  Soon  after,  we  met  two  sheep-herders 
on  horseback,  looking  for  two  comrades,  and,  when 
crossing  the  broad,  verdant  valley,  we  saw  two  great 
flocks  of  sheep,  one  grazing  up  the  valley,  the  other 
down.  We  camped  near  Strawberry  Creek.  The  four 
sheep-herders  rode  up  presently  and  having  a  wagon  full 

333 


ON  A  DONKEY'S   HURRICANE  DECK 

of  supplies,  said  if  I  would  lend  them  my  tent-poles  they 
would  string  up  a  lamb  and  divide.  I  gladly  consented. 
Two  of  the  herders  rode  off  to  mill  up  the  flocks  for  the 
night,  while  the  other  two  butchered  a  sheep,  built  a  fire 
and  cooked. 

If  the  scene  of  that  highland  camp  could  have  been 
painted  with  true  color  and  detail,  it  certainly  would  have 
made  the  artist  famous.  A  few  feet  from  the  flaming 
lire  stood  my  tent-poles  like  a  tripod,  and  from  their 
apex  was  suspended,  head  down,  a  fat  mutton;  on  bended 
knee  with  hunting  knife  in  hand,  one  of  the  herders  was 
taking  its  woolly  pelt.  The  coffee-pot  and  frying-pan 
were  on  the  fire  with  a  kettle  of  boiling  potatoes,  and, 
while  the  shepherd-cook  was  preparing  bread  for  my 
Dutch  oven,  two  herders  gathered  sage  for  a  reserve 
supply  of  fuel. 

Some  fifty  feet  way  the  horses  were  picketed,  and 
across  the  stream  the  donkeys  grazed  on  the  juicy  grass, 
untethered  but  none  the  less  secure  in  the  novel  corral 
of  twenty  thousand  sheep  which  the  faithful  shepherd 
dogs  promised  to  keep  milled  round  us  all  throughout  the 
black,  chilly  night.  The  camp-fire  sent  flashlight  beams 
on  the  surrounding  scene,  and  etched  weird  pictures  on 
the  darkness.  The  silhouetted  heads  and  backs  of  the 
horses  and  donkeys  moved  fantastically  against  the  starry 
sky  like  animated  mountain  peaks  on  the  distant  hori- 
zon; the  vast  field  of  wool  encompassing  us  and  the 
bleating  of  its  contented  life  seemed  like  the  troubled 
waters  of  some  highland  lake  imprisoning  us  on  its  one 
small  island;  and  away  across  the  vale  and  again  just 
above  us  towered  the  barrier  of  mountains  against  the 
sparkling  heavens,  forming  banks  and  pillows  for  stray 
clouds  to  sleep  upon. 

At  a  late  hour  we  hungry  men  sat  down  to  a  tasty 

334 


SWIM   TWO   RIVERS   IN  UTAH. 

supper  of  fried  mutton,  potatoes,  hot  bread  and  coffee. 
The  air  soon  rang  with  laughter.  Later  when  we  brought 
forth  our  companionable  pipes  and  began  story-telling 
round  the  cozy  fire,  I  felt  a  delight  which  seemed  a  full 
compensation  for  the  hardships  we  had  suffered  during 
the  last  week.  Suddenly  the  cry  of  a  mountain  lion  set 
the  collies  barking,  but  the  report  of  a  herder's  rifle 
silenced  the  prowler  and  sent  him  back,  no  doubt,  into 
the  hills.  The  lions  and  wolves  are  a  constant  menace  to 
the  flocks  in  that  popular  valley. 

It  was  midnight  when  we  retired.  Storm-clouds  had 
gathered  and  shut  out  the  light  of  the  stars;  it  looked 
and  felt  like  snow.  The  shepherds,  learning  that  we 
travelers  were  short  of  bedding,  brought  us  two  heavy 
woolen  blankets;  so  we  rolled  ourselves  together  and 
were  soon  asleep,  and  in  the  morning  awoke,  covered 
with  snow  an  inch  deep.  By  seven  o'clock  we  were 
ready  to  resume  our  journey  and  the  shepherds  had 
saddled  their  mounts  for  their  day's  duties. 

Trailing  out  of  the  valley,  and  through  Daniel's 
Canyon,  we  traveled  some  twenty-five  miles  down  to  the 
lowlands,  and  at  nine  in  the  evening  pitched  camp  near 
where,  next  morning,  we  discovered  a  ranchhouse  and 
haystack. 

Heber  City  lay  five  miles  away ;  arriving  there  we  were 
royally  entertained. 

Friday  we  started  for  Provo.  The  trail  lay  through 
a  picturesque  canyon,  along  the  bank  of  Provo  River, 
where  the  mountains  rose  sheer  and  barren  to  a  great 
height  on  either  hand.  Numerous  waterfalls  pour  their 
loveliness  over  steep  declivities;  patches  of  crimson  and 
yellow  verdure  showed  in  the  crevices  of  the  gray  sum- 
mits; and  now  and  then  a  terraced  vineyard  or  orchard 
or  an  irrigation  ditch,  hugging  the  steep  slopes,  indi- 

335 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

cated  a  habitation  was  hidden  somewhere  near  in  leafy 
bower  or  vine-covered  trellis.  Once  we  crossed  the  river 
on  a  new  iron  bridge  replacing  an  old  stone  structure 
which  avalanches  had  demolished. 

Passing  the  night  in  Provo,  I  rode  Skates  six  miles  to 
Springville,  through  a  beautiful,  verdant  valley,  where 
rows  of  poplars  lined  the  fields  and  orchards,  reminding 
one  of  Normandy.  There  I  was  greeted  by  a  newspaper 
editor  and  a  school  principal,  the  latter  inviting  me  to 
dinner. 

Returning  to  Provo  I  found  my  outfit  ready  for  trail. 
Making  a  brief  stop  in  Lehi,  we  reached  Pleasant 
Grove  about  eight,  and  camped  in  a  peach  orchard  ad- 
joining a  hotel.  The  landlord  welcomed  us  to  a  hot  sup- 
per, in  spite  of  the  late  hour,  then  offered  us  a  downy 
bed,  which  we  declined,  preferring  the  pure,  crisp  outer 
air. 

I  boarded  the  early  morning  train  for  Salt  Lake  City 
to  attend  Sunday  service  at  the  Tabernacle  and  hear  the 
famous  organ  and  choir.  Coonskin  remained  behind  to 
care  for  our  animals. 

Without  my  donkeys  to  identify  me,  my  rough,  un- 
kempt and  most  eccentric  person  caused  a  sensation  at 
the  Mormon  capital.  I  kept  aloof  from  everybody,  and 
nobody  was  inquisitive  enough  to  inquire  my  name,  er- 
rand, and  previous  condition  of  servitude.  I  strolled 
about  the  beautiful  city,  and  then  went  to  church. 

An  usher  with  a  charitable  heart  led  me  half  way  down 
the  aisle  to  a  pew  in  the  midst  of  that  fashionable  con- 
gregation. Every  one  was  dressed  better  than  Pod. 
But  I  did  not  feel  ill  at  ease;  on  the  contrary,  I  felt  at 
home.  A  great  many  true  churchmen  and  churchwomen 
should  have  kept  their  eyes  on  their  hymnals  instead  of 
watching  me  try  to  chant  "I  want  to  be  a  Mormon  and 

336 


"The  last  and  only  drop." 


'Just  finis/icd  Inncli  when  the  posse  arrircd.' 


SWIM   TWO    RIVERS   IN    UTAH. 

with  the  Mormons  stand."  Presently  my  sensitive 
nerves  were  irritated  by  successive  coughing  across  the 
aisle.  I  looked  to  see  what  kind  of  a  mortal  was  suf- 
fering so,  and  beheld  a  vision  of  loveliness!  Instantly 
I  remembered  a  small  box  of  cough  drops  in  my  pocket, 
and  felt  it  my  duty  as  a  gentleman  to  summon  the  cour- 
age to  cross  the  aisle  and  offer  the  soothing  remedy. 
Soon  with  palpitating  heart  and  crimson  face,  I  stepped 
with  quaking  limbs  across  the  aisle  and  reached  the  box 
to  the  fair  cougher. 

I  remember  her  look,  as  she  lifted  the  lid  of  the — empty 
box.  I  knew  plenty  of  people  in  my  lifetime  who  had 
fainted;  I  regretted  never  having  taken  lessons  from 
them. 

My  head  reeled,  the  Tabernacle  was  going  round,  and 
with  difficulty  I  retreated  to  the  pew  in  front  of  my  hat, 
which  I  looked  for,  but  couldn't  find.  I  needed  fresh 
air,  I  wanted  to  go  out.  Strange  to  say  the  lady  stopped 
coughing.  It  was  the  shock  that  cured  her,  but  the 
congregation  were  not  aware  of  that.  Some  of  them 
saw  her  look  into  the  mysterious  pasteboard  box  and  turn 
red-beet  color,  and  cease  her  convulsions.  That  was  why 
several  spoke  to  me,  and  asked  if  I  were  a  magician,  or 
healer,  as  they  had  read  of  such  people.  When  I  had 
once  escaped  into  the  airy  street,  I  wondered  how  that 
box  became  emptied;  then,  suddenly,  I  recollected  that, 
before  retiring  the  night  before,  Coonskin  asked  if  I  had 
some  cough  drops  left,  and  helped  himself. 

After  dinner  I  felt  better.  I  visited  the  Jubilee  Mu- 
seum, where  was  exhibited  an  interesting  collection  of 
Mormon  relics  of  pioneer  days,  and  then  took  a  car  for 
Fort  Douglas,  about  three  miles  from  the  city  on  the 
mountain  side,  and  was  invited  to  tea  with  an  officer  of 
the  post,  my  old  friend  Lieut.  K n. 

337 


ON  A  DONKEY'S   HURRICANE  DECK 

It  was  late  when  I  reached  Pleasant  Grove.  The  fol- 
lowing day  my  party  covered  nearly  twenty-five  miles, 
and  about  two  o'clock  on  the  succeeding  afternoon 
marched  into  the  Mormon  capital.  There  a  well  known 
pioneer  made  a  speech  and  welcomed  me  to  the  city; 
and  after  I  had  responded  in  fitting  words,  he  presented 
me  to  leading  citizens,  among  them  bishops,  presi- 
dents and  elders  of  the  Mormon  church.  The  presiding 
bishop,  an  affable  old  gentleman,  asked  the  privilege  of 
caring  for  my  animals  at  the  Tithing  House;  another 
prominent  citizen  invited  me  to  be  his  guest.  I  declined 
the  latter  kindness,  preferring  to  be  a  free  lance  and  to 
make  the  most  of  my  sojourn.  I  was  next  introduced  to 
Governor  Wells. 

That  same  evening  Coonskin  and  I  were  invited  to  the 
theater,  and  next  day,  besides  delivering  many  lectures, 
I  contracted  with  S &  Company,  prominent  silver- 
smiths, to  make  a  full  set  of  silver  shoes  for  Mac  A'Rony, 
to  be  sent  to  Oakland,  Cal.,  and  there  to  be  set  for  his 
triumphant  entry  into  San  Francisco. 


338 


CHAPTER    XLV. 


O,  that  he  were  here  to  write  me  down  an  ass!  but,  masters, 
remember  that  I  am  an  ass;  though  it  be  not  written  down,  yet 
forget  not  that  I  am  made  an  ass.— Much  Ado  About  Nothing. 

My  sojourn  in  the  famous  Mormon  Capital  was  too 
short  for  my  taste.  I  shall  remember  it  as  long  as  I  have 
bra'in's.  I  am  proud  to  say  that  I  was  initiated  into  the 
Mormon  faith  and  took  unto  myself  no  less  than  eleven 
wives;  and  I  would  have  outrivaled  Brigham  Young  in 
connubial  conquests  if  Pye  Pod  had  not  bribed  the  Elders 
and  put  an  end  to  my  marital  ambitions. 

While  a  guest  at  the  Tithing  House,  I  found  it  well 
stored  with  asinine  and  equine  luxuries.  The  Bishop  and 
many  charming  lasses  brought  me  bread,  cake,  apples  and 
jam,  and  some  genial  fellow  of  a  convivial  turn  tapped  a 
bottle  of  rum  punches.  After  imbibing  a  few  "balls,"  I 
was  quite  ready  to  tipple  Cheese,  Damfino  and  Skates,  and 
right  here  let  me  say,  that  of  all  skates  I  ever  knew  or 
heard  about,  the  last  named  takes  the  palm  as  an  artist  in 
"high-jinks."  While  she  gave  a  clever  exhibition  of  an 
inebriated  athlete,  the  rest  of  us  donks  lay  stupidly  on  a 
bunch  of  hay,  which  was  one-tenth  of  some  Mormon's 
harvest,  and  reveled  in  day  dreams. 

Skates  had  reached  that  stage  of  her  circus  where  she 
was  burlesquing  a  Shetland  pony  cavorting  on  two  legs, 
when  Coon  skin  announced  it  was  time  to  start.  None  of 
us  stirred,  except  Skates.  She  showed  the  man  how 

339 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

superbly  she  could  pirouette  on  her  left  legs  around  the 
corral;  then,  suddenly,  she  toppled  over  in  front  of  him, 
and  reached  for  the  bottle  lying  at  his  feet.  Coonskin 
grabbed  the  bottle,  smelt  of  it,  eyed  each  one  of  us  dis- 
trustfully, flung  it  over  the  fence,  and  prodded  us  all  on 
to  our  feet.  You  can  bet  he  had  a  hard  job  to  keep  two 
of  us  standing,  let  alone  all  four  of  us.  He  looked  dis- 
gusted, turned  on  his  heel,  and  made  for  the  gate  at  once. 

When  Coonskin  returned,  he  bore  a  pail  of  water  in 
each  hand.  Indeed,  the  forgiving  old  soul,  I  thought,  is 
going  to  refresh  us  and  wash  that  dull,  brown  taste  out  of 
our  mouths.  Staggering  to  my  feet,  I  advanced  to  meet 
him.  Damfino  and  Cheese  were  almost  dead  to  the  world, 
but  Skates  made  for  the  man  on  a  lop-sided  trot,  arriving 
at  one  pail  just  as  I  reached  the  other.  Into  the  liquid  we 
dipped  our  nozzles,  and  as  quickly  jerked  them  out.  What 
strange  tasting  water ! 

"Water  from  a  mineral  spring,"  observed  Skates.  "No, 
it's  a  bromo-seltzer,"  said  I.  Then  each  drank  about  a 
fourth  of  a  pailful,  and  would  have  drunk  more,  but  Coon- 
skin snatched  the  pails  away,  and,  it  seems,  transposed 
them. 

Again  we  fell  to  drinking.  But,  so  help  me  Balaam! 
soon  something  began  to  boil  and  sizzle  inside  of  me.  I 
thought  I  had  swallowed  a  school  of  swordfish,  but  im- 
mediately a  geyser  raged  within,  and,  like  a  shot,  spouted 
out  of  my  mouth,  spraying  Coonskin's  face;  and  almost 
simultaneously  Skates  played  another  fountain  in  the 
man's  eyes. 

"Seidlitz  powders!"  I  gasped,  trying  to  catch  my 
breath,  which  seemed  to  have  left  me  forever.  And 
didn't  that  man  curse  the  whole  race  of  jackasses !  Drop- 
ping the  pails,  he  ran  for  a  pump. 

Presently   Coonskin   returned.     "You   infernal   scape- 

340 


INITIATED   TO   MORMON    FAITH. 

graces!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  eyed  me  and  picked  up  the 
pails. 

My  recent  experience  had  quite  restored  me  to  a  ration- 
al donkey,  and,  remembering  that  "a  soft  word  turneth 
away  wrath,"  I  said,  "You  are  too  eager  to  fix  the  blame 
on  an  innocent  creature,  Master  Coonskin.  The  recent 
episode  which  was  so  distasteful  to  us  three,  and  most  ex- 
asperating to  you,  points  a  good  moral.  Never  become  so 
absorbed  in  the  virtues  of  a  cure  that  you  are  blind  to  its 
possible  effect  upon  your  patient. 

The  man  left  us,  shaking  his  head  and  talking  to  him- 
self, and  administered  the  dose  to  Damfino  and  Cheese. 

When  Coonskin  first  visited  us  it  was  eleven  o'clock. 
Damfino  did  not  sound  eight  brays  to  announce  the  sun's 
meridian  and  the  hour  for  barley,  but  we  donks  were  con- 
sidered sober  enough  to  be  packed  by  one  o'clock,  although 
in  poor  condition  to  travel.  It  was  an  effort  for  me  to  walk, 
an  impossibility  to  walk  straight.  My  asinine  comrades 
grunted  and  groaned  from  nausea,  and  Cheese  complained 
that  we  had  been  cheated  of  our  mid-day  meal. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  Hotel,  Pod  had  just  finished  his 
luncheon.  Damfino  looked  into  the  hotel  portal  and 
brayed.  Then  Pod  came  out,  got  into  my  saddle,  and 
amid  great  applause  from  the  assembled  citizens,  piloted 
our  caravan  down  the  broad  thoroughfare,  out  of  the 
lovely  poplared  streets  and  hospitable,  home-lined  ave- 
nues, past  orchard  and  field  and  cottage  and  windmill, 
over  the  road  to  Garfield  Beach,  on  "that  mysterious 
inland  sea,"  a  few  miles  from  the  city.  Once  or  twice,  as 
I  wabbled  across  the  level  and  luxuriant  valley,  I  turned 
my  head  for  "one  last,  lingering  look  behind,"  though  I 
confess  I  did  so  timorously,  with  a  feeling  intermixed  with 
superstitious  foreboding,  as  I  recalled  the  story  of  how 
Lot's  wife  turned  into  a  pillar  of  salt.  It  suggested  itself 

34i 


ON  A  DONKEY'S   HURRICANE  DECK 

to  my  reason  that  if  there  was  one  spot  on  earth  indige- 
nous to  such  a  dire  transformation  it  was  right  in  that 
Salt  Lake  valley. 

There,  above  and  behind  us,  and  across  the  majestic 
towers  of  the  Temple,  lay  Fort  Douglas,  the  gem  frontier 
post  of  America,  its  white  painted  fences  and  barns  glis- 
tened like  meerschaum  in  the  sunshine,  with  lovely  drives 
and  walks,  and  smooth-cut  foliage,  and  sleek-broomed 
lawns  of  emerald,  and  fountains  (not  charged  with  seid- 
litz),  and  blooming  flowers.  And  beyond  towered  the 
rugged,  snow-crowned  summits  of  the  "eternal  barrier" 
which  holds  the  fort  below,  and  guards  with  loving  care 
the  "Land  of  Promise"  and  that  so-called  "modern  Zion" 
at  their  feet,  like  a  dog  guards  his  bone  when  threatening 
elements  are  wagging  his  way. 

We  arrived  at  Utah's  Coney  Island,  Garfield  Beach, 
late  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  This  famed  resort, 
named  after  the  martyr  President  who  was  the  victim  of 
an  assassin,  is  a  very  pleasant  retreat  on  the  lake  shore. 
It  is  accessible  by  railroad  train,  horse  and  buggy,  or 
donkey  engine,  although  few  people  accept  the  latter 
mode  of  conveyance,  as  Pod  did,  I  observed. 

Pod  stopped  to  swim  and  float  on  Salt  Lake.  Then  we 
went  on  and  brought  up  at  a  delicious  fresh-water  well,  in 
front  of  the  Spencer  Ranch-house,  where  I  led  my  asinine 
quartette  in  the  song  of  the  "Old  Oaken  Bucket."  An 

audience  at  once  gathered.  Mr.  S invited  us  all  to 

tarry  for  the  night,  and  when  the  Prof,  accepted,  we  donks 
gave  three  "tigers"  and  a  kick,  which  struck  the  ranch 
dog  as  being  most  extraordinary.  Landing  on  the  other 
side  of  the  fence,  he  yelped  himself  into  the  house  with- 
out further  assistance. 


342 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

BY    PYE    POD. 

There  are  braying  men  in  the  world,  as  well  as  braying  asses ; 
for  what's  loud  and  senseless  talking  and  swearing  any  other 
than  braying  ? — Sir  Roger  L 'Estrange. 

We  set  out  early  from  Spencer  ranch,  refreshed  by  a 
good  night's  sleep.  The  weather  was  mild,  but  the  trail 
dusty,  and  the  country  uninteresting.  I  found  Tooele 
to  be  a  sociable  town  that,  from  appearances,  subsisted 
mainly  on  sympathy  and  fruit.  Some  of  its  denizens 
own  outlying  ranches  or  fruit-farms,  and  the  remainder, 
those  who  don't,  have  sympathy  for  those  who  do. 
There  appears,  however,  betwixt  these  two  outcropping 
extremes  to  be  ample  means  with  which  to  provide  the 
more  modest  comforts  of  life — wives  and  children:  for 
such  are  known  to  exist,  under  any  conditions,  all  over 
the  world. 

No  sooner  had  I  entered  the  village,  than  a  gentle- 
eyed  siren  coyly  approached,  and  said  her  papa  wished 
me  to  put  my  jacks  in  his  stable.  While  I  was  trying 
to  please  that  man,  a  squatty  youth  scraped  across  the 
road  in  his  elder  brother's  breeches  to  say  that  his  mother 
would  like  to  have  me  spend  the  night  at  her  house. 
"Sociable  people  all  right,"  my  valet  remarked,  while  I 
said  to  the  boy,  "Kid,  you  run  and  tell  your  good 
mother  that  I  have  a  man  with  me,  and,  if  she  can 
accommodate  us  both,  I  will  be  glad  to  compensate  her 
liberally  for  the  hospitality." 

But  these  Mormon  beaux  esprits,  while  followers  of 

343 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

the  Prophet,  reverence  old  Bacchus  as  though  he  were 
Young. 

As  soon  as  my  animals  were  provided  for,  Coon- 
skin  and  I  were  called  to  supper  and  greeted  at  the  gate 
by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Noah  and  the  children.  I  was  hungry 
and  tired.  It  occurred  to  me  that  in  all  probability  my 
hosts  had  drawn  heavily  on  their  larder  to  provide  a  gen- 
erous repast,  and  would  yet  have  to  pluck  all  their  drakes 
and  ganders  before  they  could  make  our  beds  down. 

That  evening,  on  venturing  in  the  street,  I  was  held  up 
by  a  jolly  party,  armed  with  two  kegs  of  beer,  a  barrel 
of  sandwiches,  and  a  number  of  mandolins  and  guitars. 
In  front  of  my  donkey's  quarters  was  a  spacious,  grass- 
grown  area,  where  they  spread  their  feast;  there  I  met  my 
fete.  The  serenade,  if  not  the  banquet,  was  in  honor  of 
the  whole  party,  biped  and  quadruped.  Although  my 
dog  whined  at  the  harmony  to  frighten  the  performers, 
Mac  and  Damfino  applauded  the  classic  selections 
vociferously,  while  all  four  donks  availed  themselves  of 
standing-room  only,  rest  their  chins  on  the  top  corral 
rail,  and  audibly  discussed  the  exercises. 

As  soon  as  my  entertainers  departed,  Coonskin  and  I 
sought  our  hostess.  It  was  a  beautiful  September  night. 
No  air  was  astir.  The  sky  was  darkly  clear  and  the 
myriad  stars  were  winking  with  insomnia. 

Startled  from  sound  sleep  at  early  dawn  by  a  blast 
from  a  "busted"  fish-horn,  I  rolled  out  of  bed  in  the 
presence  of  Noah,  instead  of  Gabriel,  as  I  was  frightened 
to  expect. 

The  next  thing  was  to  wash  and  dress.  A  half  vinegar 
barrel  stood  at  the  back  door  abrim  with  water.  I  was 
told  it  was  soft,  but  I  found  it  hard  enough  to  wash  in.  A 
few  feathers  floated  on  the  surface,  and  the  soft  water 
looked  like  soft  soap.  Old  Noah  was  one  ahead  of  me 

344 


TYPEWRITING   ON   A   DONKEY. 

and  dipped  in.  His  wife,  sons,  and  dog  made  their 
ablutions  in  turn,  while  the  Shanghai  hens  and  a  pet 
magpie  had  doubtless  rinsed  their  fowl  beaks  in  it. 

I  watched  the  exhibition  reflectively,  and,  concluding 
it  would  not  show  proper  respect  to  appear  at  table  be- 
fore taking  a  dip,  and  that  more  than  likely  I  should  have 
to  drink  worse  water  before  I  had  crossed  the  desert,  I 
ducked  my  head,  paddled  my  fins,  then  dried  them  in  the 
sun,  for  I  couldn't  "go"  that  towel.  The  scrambled 
pigs'  feet  at  breakfast  was  a  new  dish  to  this  epicure, 
though  my  versatile  valet  observed  with  an  inflated  appe- 
tite, that  he  had  often  made  pigs'  feet  scramble  back  in 
Wisconsin. 

In  spite  of  a  late  start,  we  reached  Stockton  before 
noon.  My  first  duty  was  to  hunt  up  an  opulent  resident, 
whom  I  had  met  at  the  soiree  in  Tooele,  and  who  had 
promised  me  a  burro. 

We  at  once  unpacked  the  donkeys,  to  give  them  a 
restful  nooning,  and  piled  the  luggage  in  front  of  a 
store.  It  was  here  that  my  philanthropic  friend  found 
me  smoking.  At  once,  he  sent  a  lad  to  chase  up  a  good, 
strong  burro  to  make  good  his  promise;  next  he  offered 
me  the  freedom  of  the  town. 

"I'm  kind  of  tired,  my  good  sir,"  I  said  gratefully, 
"but — how — how  far  is  the  town." 

The  donor  of  Coxey  blinked  his  eyes  and  felt  of  his 
goatee,  then,  straightening  back,  said,  "Not  fer,  it's  right 
here.  Can't  you  see  it  all  round  ye?  Ye  didn't  cal'luate 
ter  find  a  New  Yirk  er  New  Orlins,  did  ye?  This  is  jest 
plain  unadulterated  Stockton,  and  it's  glad  ter  welcome  ye. 
Now,  if  ye' re  trim  ter  go  about  a  piece,  I'll  guide  ye." 

"Thanks,  awfully,"  I  replied,  rising.  "Take  me  to  a 
smith  the  first  thing ;  I  want  all  my  donks'  feet  examined 
and  put  in  condition  for  the  desert." 

345 


ON  A  DONKEY'S   HURRICANE  DECK 

Then  leaving  an  order  for  supplies  at  the  store,  I 
had  Coonskin  ride  my  new  burro  to  the  blacksmith. 

After  a  two-and-a-half-hour  sojourn  in  Stockton,  my 
caravan  was  wending  its  way  to  the  next  and  last  town 
we  would  visit  in  Utah,  St.  Johns.  The  next  after  that 
would  be  one  hundred  and  seventy-five  miles  away. 
Here  and  there  along  the  trail  a  ranchman's  shack  stood 
alone,  the  glistening  window  panes  flashing  like  a  light- 
house tower  in  that  sea  of  sage.  An  occasional  horse 
or  steer  would  loom  above  the  brush;  once  or  twice  a 
jackrabbit  bounded  across  the  trail,  or  a  weary  buzzard 
careened  in  the  air  overhead,  as  though  figuring  for  me 
a  fatal  horoscope. 

I  was  silent  a  long  time  before  Coonskin  reminded  me 
that  I  had  neglected  my  weekly  letter  to  the  papers. 

Said  he,  "It's  a  good  time  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance 
of  Samantha  Jane,  that  typewriter  you  got  at  Salt  Lake." 

"Can't  you  suggest  something  more  sensible?"  I  re- 
plied. "How  can  I  manage  the  machine  while  riding  a 
jackass?" 

"Easy  enough,"  said  Coonskin.  "Lash  it  on  Damfino, 
and  seat  yourself  as  you  would  to  play  solitaire." 

Great  idea!  The  neglected  typewriter  was  at  once  in- 
troduced to  my  party  for  the  first  time,  and  secured  in 
a  comfortable  position  on  the  broad-backed  donkey. 
Then  I  seated  myself  vis-a-vis,  and  opened  up  a  some- 
what spirited  conversation  on  the  journey. 

It  was  not  with  the  best  of  grace  that  Samantha  Jane 
consented  to  be  my  amanuensis.  She  held  the  sheet  of 
paper  very  mechanically,  and  appeared  utterly  devoid  of 
animation.  I  first  tried  to  date  my  letter.  I  shot  my 
finger  at  the  S  key  and  struck  the  L  just  as  Damfino 
nabbed  at  a  sage  bush.  I'll  correct  the  spelling  after- 
ward I  thought,  and  tried  to  hit  the  letter  E,  but  rapped 

346 


TYPEWRITING   ON   A   DONKEY. 

A  full  in  the  face.  "Don't  joggle  so!"  I  yelled  at  my 
steed,  and,  drawing  a  bead  on  P,  literally  knocked 
down  Z,  as  Damfino  stubbed  her  toe.  Next,  in  vexation, 
I  shot  at  T  quite  recklessly,  and  punched  Y's  face  close 
by.  The  effort  had  overtaxed  me,  and  snatching  the 
paper  from  my  typewriter,  read  aloud  L-A-Z-Y.  Mac 
grinned  from  ear  to  ear,  and  Coonskin  laughed  loudly. 
The  donkey  remarked  that  practice  is  a  good  remedy 
for  incompetence,  even  if  it  does  not  cultivate  patience. 

Again  and  again  I  tried  to  write  the  abbreviation 
"Sept.,"  but  at  length  called  "Coonskin,  I'm  going  to 
discharge  this  typewriter,  and  stow  her  away  till  we  get 
to  Eureka/' 

"Your  courtship  is  amusing.  Keep  it  up,  you'll 
understand  each  other  in  time,"  he  replied. 

"I  have  my  doubts,"  brayed  Mac,  "when  she  won't 
even  let  him  make  a  date  with  her." 

I  resolved  to  begin  the  letter  anew,  and  to  write  at 
least  a  paragraph,  date  or  no  date.  This  is  how  it 
looked  when  I  had  finished. 

"Talo  hab$  getoch-Tho  forntnigs  ate  erut%wsot 
pirowigs  og  owhym,  dyl  swelboka  swice,  bomblastnig 
wisj  thu  cleg  pry)  wet  dnpenting  tresgd  wobm  -&a 
wihng  rubpint  dor  a  Togues  Cruop;  %  ro  mi  Noty  gni- 
leek  befort  dajosty  ga  eht5  safey  haschimb  she  boj  o  rew 
laim$. 

It  was  extremely  encouraging,  to  find  but  four  cor- 
rectly-spelled and  distinctly  English  words  in  all  that 
jumble  of  dialects.  I  thought  it  a  good  paragraph  to 
practice  on,  and  would  have  tried  it  over,  but  Coonskin 
called  to  me  that  we  were  approaching  town  and,  from 
appearances,  the  villagers  were  going  to  give  us  a  hearty 
welcome.  So  I  stopped  Damfino,  and  hastily  tucked 
Samantha  Jane  away  in  time  to  avoid  a  scandal. 

347 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

BY  MAC  A'RONY. 
Very  good;  well  kissed  J  an  excellent  courtesy. — Othello. 

By  the  time  our  caravan  reached  St.  Johns,  Pye  Pod 
was  bewailing  his  failure  to  discover  the  key  to  his  type- 
writer's character,  the  non-production  of  his  newspaper 
letter,  and  the  forfeiture  of  the  check  it  would  have 
brought  him;  besides,  he  was  borrowing  trouble  by  de- 
ploring his  prospective  desert  journey  ere  it  had  begun. 

"What  a  sleepy  old  hamlet  in  which  to  bid  farewell  to 
earth!"  he  muttered  dejectedly,  as  we  passed  the  first 
house.  "I'll  bet  13  to  I  that  there  isn't  a  soul  in  the 
whole  settlement  to  welcome  us.  The  great  and  only 
Pythagoras  Pod,  D.  D.  (donkey  driver),  passeth  through 
with  his  stately  train  and  entereth  the  seared  and  thorny 
purgatory  of  the  desert  without  the  perfume  of  a  single 
rose  to  waft  to  him  its  balm  of  comforting  sympathy." 

Suddenly  a  happy  cheer  greeted  our  ears  in  the  dis- 
tance. The  sound  was  sweetly  feminine,  and  Pod  said 
that  to  his  sensitive  ear  the  angelic  chimes  swelled  and 
died  and  softly  returned,  like  the  tender  notes  of  the 
nightingale  in  an  echo  vale.  (Pod  is  often  swelled  by  the 
divine  inflatus).  At  this  time  not  a  soul  beyond  our  out- 
fit was  visible,  but  soon  we  discovered  in  the  foreground 
of  a  kennel-shaped  schoolhouse  a  bevy  of  girls,  all  clad 
in  white  and  garnished  with  flowers  and  delicate  vines. 
As  we  drove  near,  the  whole  band  of  pretty  maidens,  led 
by  the  tallest  of  them,  approached  and  surrounded  us. 

348 


POD   KISSED    BY   SWEET    SIXTEEN. 

I  knew  not  whether  Pod  was  frightened  or  elated;  he  fell 
off  my  back  in  an  effort  to  dismount  gracefully. 

The  pretty  chieftess  made  a  bow,  and  looked  at  the 
sky,  and  played  nervously  with  her  skirt,  and  turned  side- 
ways, and  finally  began  to  intone  her  "Him  of  the  Asi- 
nine Pilgrimage." 

"Noble  and  valorous  courtier,"  she  began  softly — and 
a  donk  of  the  party  brayed,  "Speak  louder!" — "we  daugh- 
ters of  St.  Johns,  Queen  of  the  Desert,  come  to  greet  you 
with  kind  and  admiring  hearts."  (Coxey  brayed  boister- 
ously, "Here,  Here!")  "We  hail  your  brilliant  achieve- 
ment, as  the  planets  hail  the  sun" — ("What  a  Venus  that 
middle  one,"  I  confided  to  Pod) — "Your  courage,  your 
fortitude,  your  manly  sacrifice  of  the  associations  of  your 
nativity  and  of  the  affectionate  kisses  of  dear  ones  left 
behind  you.  These,  we  deem,  should  be  recognized. 
Therefore,  having  learned  that  you  and  your  stately  cara- 
van were  coming  by  this  highway  and  that  your  trusty 
charger,  Mac  A'Rony,  was  still  standing  faithfully  by 
you"  (I  bowed  at  the  compliment) — "and  your  poultroon 
of  long-eared  cavalry" — "For  Balaam's  sake!  What's 
that  she  calls  us?"  I  questioned  my  mute  master.  "She 
means  'Platoon,"  not  'poultroon,'  "  he  explained — "St. 
Johns  has  befittingly  chosen  the  flowers  of  her  desert 
garden — thirteen  comely  virgins — to  be  presented  to  you 
on  this  momentous  occasion.  And  so,  in  honor  of  your 
famous  exploits,"  continued  the  chieftess,  composedly, 
"we  now  come  to  meet  the  lion  fearlessly  in  his  desert 
haunts.  Here,  take  these  flowers  (she  handed  Pod  a 
bunch)  and  wear  them.  They  will  prove  a  talisman  to 
conduct  you  and  your  party  in  safety  to  the  farther  desert 
shore."  And  with  the  most  exalted,  sweet-scented  nerve 
Pod  accepted  the  bokay.  He  smelled  of  it,  and  examined 
it,  and  then  disappointedly  yet  courageously  replied:  "I 

349 


ON  A  DONKEY'S   HURRICANE  DECK 

see  no  tulips  among  the  flowers,  and  I  love  two-lips  so 
much." 

"Indeed?  Well,  then  you  shall  not  be  disappointed," 
said  the  pretty  speaker;  and,  s'help  me  Balaam!  If  that 
girl  didn't  step  forward  and  give  my  surprised  master 
her  two  lips.  And  every  one  of  the  dozen  others,  except 
the  last  one,  gave  hers  too,  or  drown  me  in  an  alkali 
pond.  The  last  girl  sensibly  boxed  his  ears.  Pod  just 
kissed  every  mouth  of  them,  from  the  eldest  to  the 
youngest,  save  the  one.  The  touching  ceremonies  over, 
I  rather  expected  my  master  to  respond  eloquently  in  a 
few  well-chosen  words,  but  he  was  speechless.  "Speech!" 
cried  Cheese,  and  every  donkey  of  us  repeated,  "Speech, 
Speech!"  Then  Pod  found  his  tongue  and  began: 

"Beautiful  and  spicy  sage-flowers,"  he  bungled;  and 
the  maidens'  sweet  faces  colored, — "I  am  completely 
overcome  with  this  splendid  ovation.  As  frogs  dive  into 
a  crystal  pool,  you  have  disturbed  the  morbid  surface  of 
my  present  feelings  with  radiating  ripples  which  shall 
widen  and  cease  to  fade  into  oblivion  only  when  I  shall 
have  reached  the  desert's  opposite  strand.  The  honey 
you  have  left  on  my  lips  shall  sweeten  my  ertswhile  bit- 
ter hours,  and  the  milk  of  your  human  kindness  will 
quench  my  thirst  when  the  last  drop  in  my  canteen  has 
evaporated.  Now  I  must  bid  you  all  a  fond  and  affec- 
tionate farewell." 

At  once  the  silver-tongued  orator  went  down  the  line 
again,  kissing  each  and  every  one  of  the  dozen  he  had 
sampled  before;  then  he  got  into  my  saddle.  The  thir- 
teen foolish  virgins  backed  sorrowfully  against  the 
barbed  wire  fence  with  handkerchiefs  to  their  eyes;  the 
blushing,  crimson  sun  hid  his  phiz  behind  the  distant 
mountains;  a  dumb  weathercock  tried  to  crow  as  he 

350 


POD   KISSED    BY   SWEET    SIXTEEN. 

tucked  himself  to  roost  on  a  neighboring  barn;  and  our 
caravan  moved  on  toward  the  desert  waste. 

"A  complete  triumph,"  remarked  the  Professor, 
swelled  with  pride;  "but  for  that  eldest  prude  who 
slapped  my  face." 

"The  incident  points  a  moral,"  I  returned.  "Don't 
attempt  to  pet  every  cat  that  purrs." 


35i 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 

BY    PYE   POD. 

The  lottery  of  my  destiny 
Bars  me  the  right  of  voluntary  choosing. 

— Shakespeare. 

Rocky  Mountain  canaries  were  singing  their  lullabys 
and  Bridget  (the  clock)  had  just  called  eleven  o'clock 
when  the  house  of  St.  Joer  loomed  in  the  darkness.  A 
hush  was  upon  it  and  all  the  out-buildings.  Though  no- 
body greeted  me,  still  I  knew  where  I  was  by  the  odd- 
looking  arch  over  the  corral  gate.  Mr.  St.  Joer  was  at 
the  soiree  in  Tooele,  and  had  made  me  promise  to  tarry 
with  him  a  night  before  braving  the  desert ;  so  we  camped 
in  the  corral.  We  were  awakened  early  by  the  genial 
ranchman,  and  escorted  in  to  breakfast  with  him  and  a 
guest,  a  young  man  from  Salt  Lake  City,  who  had  just 
ridden  horseback  from  Granite  Mountain,  where  he  had 
been  inspecting  some  lead  mines. 

It  was  a  treat  for  me  to  sit  again  at  a  meal  not  cooked 
by  myself;  all  four  of  us  ate  with  genuine  relish.  The 
stranger  was  about  thirty,  of  light  complexion,  tall  and 
slender,  and  was  dressed  in  a  nobby  riding-suit,  with 
leather  leggings  and  spurs. 

"If  you  take  the  Granite  Mt.  trail  to  Redding  Springs," 
suggested  my  host,  turning  to  the  young  engineer  for  his 
indorsement — "but  no,  that's  too  risky,"  he  corrected. 

"Save  forty  miles  and  more,"  commented  the  engineer. 
"I  can  give  the  Professor  a  diagram  of  the  desert  and  all 

352 


LAST   DROP   IN   THE   CANTEEN. 

the  trails  to  Fedora  Spring  in  Granite  Mt. ;  the  trail  from 
there  to  Redding  is  not  confusing,  I  understand." 

I  said  I  would  take  the  risk  to  save  forty  miles,  a  two 
days'  journey.  My  first  intention  had  been  to  go  south 
of  the  desert  by  Fish  Springs,  the  route  generally  traveled 
by  emigrant  schooners. 

Three  hours  later,  we  were  climbing  the  rocky  summit 
of  the  range  that  hid  the  great  desert  beyond,  and  thread- 
ing the  jagged  causeway  called  the  Devil's  Gate. 

They  rose  sheer  and  craggy  high  above  us — im- 
mutable witnesses  of  that  sundering  catastrophe  of  nature 
when  the  earth's  mighty  convulsions  of  a  prehistoric  age 
converted  an  obstacle  into  a  convenient  pass.  When  out 
on  the  western  side  and  I  beheld  the  broad  expanse  of 
sun-tanned  desert  reaching  from  that  sage  mottled  slope 
to  the  parallel-stretch  of  mesa,  some  twenty  miles  away, 
the  intervening  Skull  Valley  lost  for  me  its  legendary 
terrors.  But  it  was  a  forlorn-looking  prospect ;  only  two 
things  made  up  the  perfect  picture  of  a  despised  Nature — 
alkali  and  sage. 

About  noon,  when  we  had  proceeded  some  distance  into 
the  Skull  Valley  desert,  we  stopped  to  feed  and  rest  an 
hour  before  resuming  the  march.  As  we  seemed  to  have 
abundance  of  water  and  provisions,  this  glaring  solitude 
with  such  a  lugubrious  name  caused  me  no  dread  sensa- 
tions, for  when  supplied  with  the  necessities  of  life,  it  is 
difficult  for  one  to  realize  the  dying  man's  agonies  of  star- 
vation or  thirst. 

By  six  we  had  crossed  Skull  Valley.  The  last  mile  of 
trail  wound  up  a  slight  grade  to  a  grassy  bench,  where 
stood  a  low-roofed,  log  shack;  it  was  the  deserted  Scrib- 
ner's  Ranch.  A  few  moment's  reconnoitering  resulted  in 
our  rinding  the  spring. 

Then  we  unpacked  and  picketed  the  animals,  except- 

353 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

ing  Mac  A'Rony,  who  was  usually  allowed  to  roam  at 
will ;  for  when  tied,  he  was  forever  tangling  himself  in  a 
snarl  that  required  time  and  patience  to  unravel. 

Our  tent  was  pitched  a  hundred  feet  from  the  shack, 
whose  dusky  contour,  wrapped  in  the  sombre  veil  of  night, 
on  the  mesa  above  us  and  against  the  sparkling  firmament, 
looked  cold  and  repelling  indeed. 

Day  had  advanced  two  hours  when  we  awoke.  The 
broad  desert  to  the  west  gleamed  at  white  heat.  While  I 
cooked  breakfast,  Coonskin  saddled  the  animals,  to  save 
time;  then,  the  meal  over,  we  quickly  packed  and  started 
for  the  scorching  sands.  The  trail  was  as  hot  and  level 
as  a  fire-brick  floor.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  in 
three  directions,  the  blue,  curved  dome  of  heaven  and  the 
glistening  desert  met  in  a  gaseous  haze,  hiding  the  hori- 
zon, but  in  time,  far  to  the  west,  as  we  proceeded  grad- 
ually, rose  a  bluish-gray  pyramid,  which  we  know  to  be 
Granite  Mountain;  while,  to  the  rear,  the  distant  hills, 
where  stood  the  deserted  cabin,  looked  to  be  mere  dust- 
heaps  at  the  base  of  Nature's  architecture — the  towering 
rocks  of  the  Cedar  Mountains  through  which  we  trailed 
the  morning  before. 

Every  few  minutes  we  had  to  tap  our  canteens;  the 
powdered  alkali  dust  rose  in  our  faces  and  swelled  our 
eyes  and  tongues ;  no  amount  of  water  would  alleviate  our 
pangs  of  thirst.  Besides,  the  evaporation  of  the  water  in 
our  cloth-wrapped  canteens  and  basket-covered  demijohn 
was  frightfully  great ;  I  feared  lest  the  supply  would  not 
last  us  through  to  Fedora  Spring.  I  gave  Don  frequent 
drinks,  yet  his  eyes  were  blood-shot  and  his  tongue  hung 
out  foaming  and  swollen.  As  a  precaution  against  any 
sudden  freak  of  madness  on  his  part,  I  held  my  revolver 
in  readiness  to  dispatch  the  dear  fellow  should  it  become 
necessary. 

354 


LAST   DROP   IN   THE   CANTEEN. 

On  the  other  hand,  my  donkeys  strode  along  quietly, 
without  complaint  or  seeming  discomfort,  as  if  in  their 
native  element. 

Not  a  living  thing  could  we  see  beyond  our  caravan. 
No  jack-rabbits  ventured  into  the  desert;  no  more  would 
a  water-spaniel  breast  a  scalding  sea.  The  only  living 
thing  we  met  with  in  that  gigantic  kiln  was  a  horned  toad, 
which  was  existing  as  a  hermit  and  was  apparently  con- 
tent. We  captured  it,  and  Coonskin  named  it  Job,  be- 
cause the  horns  which  covered  it  looked  like  the  extinct 
craters  of  once  boiling  boils.  Our  water  was  vanishing  so 
rapidly  by  noon  that  I  decided  not  to  tarry  for  lunch  and 
rest,  but  to  hasten  to  the  spring ;  but  at  five,  when  the  sun 
was  nearer  the  horizon  and  evaporation  less,  I  ordered  a 
dry  camp,  and  the  donkeys  were  unpacked  and  grained 
with  the  last  of  the  barley  generously  presented  by  St. 
Joer.  We  men  lunched  on  cold  meat  and  crackers  and 
canned  fruit,  and  sparing  draughts  of  warm  water;  after 
which  we  reclined  and  smoked  until  the  sun  set.  Then 
we  repacked  before  darkness  set  in  to  confuse  us.  How 
the  donkeys  did  enjoy  rolling  in  the  alkali!  When  they 
had  finished  their  dry  ablutions  they  looked  like  negroes 
who  had  been  hit  with  a  bag  of  flour. 

Just  before  resuming  the  march,  we  men  poured  a  few 
drops  of  citric  acid  into  our  two  quart  canteens,  whose 
tepid  water  was  only  an  aggravation  of  our  thirst;  the 
acid  made  it  palatable.  Soon  afterward  I  discovered  our 
great  error.  The  acid  so  worked  on  the  tin  that  the  water 
became,  in  time,  unfit  to  drink;  fearing  lest  it  would  poi- 
son us,  we  both  had  to  throw  the  precious  liquid  away. 

About  mid-way  that  afternoon  I  saw  my  first  mirage. 
It  was  simply  magnificent,  wonderful!  A  snow-crowned 
mountain  rose  out  of  the  desert,  and  on  top  of  it,  turned 
bottom-side  up,  rested  its  counterpart,  both  phantom  peaks 

355 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

remaining  a  while  immovable;  then  they  appeared  to 
crush  into  each  other  and  dissolve.  The  spectacle  was  be- 
wildering. Like  mammoth  icebergs  in  a  glistening  sea, 
they  seemed  to  melt  and  leave  on  the  arid  waste  a  great 
lake  of  crystal  water.  At  sundown  they  reappeared  with 
still  grander  effect. 

The  sun  threw  a  crimson,  fiery  mantle  over  the  under 
mountain,  which  produced  the  effect  of  flowing  lava  down 
its  snow-white  slope  to  a  flame-red  lake  on  the  desert, 
while  above,  on  the  upper  mountain,  reflected  and  danced 
shadows  of  rose-color  and  pink,  as  if  reflected  from 
flames  within  the  crater  of  a  volcano  underneath.  Then, 
as  the  sun  sank  below  the  horizon,  the  upper  mountain 
gradually  rose  toward  the  zenith  and  opened  wider,  like 
a  great  fan,  tinted  with  all  the  colors  of  a  rainbow,  until  it 
faded  into  radiating  webs  of  gossamer,  and  disappeared. 

One  other  time  we  saw  plainly  the  skeletons  of  a  man 
and  a  horse  glistening  several  hundred  feet  from  the  trail, 
but  I  was  too  incredulous  to  put  faith  in  the  old  proverb, 
"Seeing  is  believing,"  and  passed  on.  Just  before  dark 
the  huge  Granite  Mountain  looked  to  be  only  a  couple  of 
miles  away.  Still  we  traveled  till  midnight  before  we 
passed  the  edge  of  the  dusky  pile,  so  deceiving  are  dis- 
tances in  that  rarified  air. 

The  evening  in  that  cooling  oven  of  baked  sand  and 
alkali  was  oppressively  long,  dull  and  wearisome.  Every 
trail  branching  toward  Granite  Mountain  had  to  be 
checked  off  my  diagram,  for  we  had  seen  no  sign-board. 
True,  the  heavens  lent  a  little  cheer  with  their  sparkling 
lights,  but  the  temperature  fell  from  far  above  the  100 
degree  mark  to  70  degrees  by  eight  o'clock,  and  to  48  de- 
grees before  we  pitched  camp.  We  had  passed  three  trails 
not  on  the  diagram,  and  I  began  nervously  to  speculate 
whether  the  sign-board  had  been  taken  by  some  overland 

356 


LAST   DROP   IN   THE   CANTEEN. 

voyager  for  fuel  and  we  had  passed  the  trail  to  Fedora 
Spring. 

The  clock  pointed  to  one.  A  few  moments  later  a  well- 
beaten  trail  curved  southward  toward  the  towering  pyra- 
mid of  rock.  I  called  a  halt  to  reason  with  my  man  on 
the  advisability  of  following  it. 

"We'll  chance  it,"  I  said;  and  we  trailed  toward  the 
mountain.  Narrower,  rockier  and  steeper  grew  the  trail 
for  two  miles,  before  I  discerned  the  sloping  sides  of  the 
canyon  we  were  in,  when  I  ordered  camp.  The  donkeys 
were  securely  picketed  to  the  roots  of  giant  sage  with  our 
longest  ropes,  to  enable  them  to  find  sleeping  places  among 
the  rocks;  I  knew  they  must  be  very  thirsty,  and 
would  try  to  break  away  in  search  of  water.  Then  we 
made  our  bed  in  the  trail,  and  with  lantern  went  to  find 
the  spring;  but  we  searched  in  vain  and  returned  to  our 
camp-fire  discouraged.  Evidently  we  had  taken  a  wood- 
trail  into  a  dry  canyon. 

Only  half  a  two-quart  canteen  of  water  was  left  us.  We 
ate  a  cold  lunch,  and  drank  sparingly ;  after  which  I  took 
charge  of  the  canteen  for  the  night.  Coonskin  remon- 
strated at  once,  saying  he  was  thirsty.  I  said  I  was,  too, 
and  that  when  I  should  drink,  he  could,  but  not  otherwise. 
We  were  in  desperate  circumstances,  and  I  must  exercise 
my  authority.  So  we  crawled  into  our  blankets,  on  the 
hard  and  narrow  trail  under  the  glittering  canopy  of 
heaven,  and  were  soon  asleep.  But,  before  lying  down, 
with  a  realizing  sense  that  we  were  lost  and  without  the 
water  to  keep  us  alive  half  the  distance  either  to  Skull 
Valley  or  to  Redding  Springs,  I  knelt  in  fervent  prayer 
to  God  to  guide  us  out  of  that  awful  wilderness  to  water 
in  time  to  save  us  from  the  death  that  seemed  to  be  in 
store  for  us  on  the  morrow.  The  beaming  planets,  also 
voyagers  on  a  limitless  sea  of  mystery  and  doubt,  looked 

357 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

down,  cold  and  unsympathetic.  Coonskin  was  first 
asleep ;  when  I  was  sure,  by  his  breathing,  I  quietly  rose 
and  gave  my  faithful  dog  a  few  drops  of  water  in  the 
wash  basin.  He  was  grateful  indeed,  and  tried  to  be  con- 
tent; he  seemed  to  realize  the  situation,  and  licking  my 
cheek,  lay  down  close  to  my  side. 

The  sun  shone  over  the  walls  of  the  canyon  and  awoke 
us  frightfully  late.  We  stretched  and  yawned.  Now,  I 
thought,  if  I  had  only  taken  Mac's  suggestion  to  lay  in  a 
store  of  carrots  and  turnips,  the  water  in  the  vegetables 
would  have  sufficed  in  emergency,  and  the  donkeys  had 
feed. 

As  my  hopeful  outfit  tramped  and  slipped  and  tumbled 
down  to  the  shining  plain,  I  almost  felt  I  could  see  my 
finish  on  that  sun-scorched  lime-hued  gridiron  which 
faded  away  into  a  gaseous  nothingness  in  three  direc- 
tions. When  we  came  to  the  main  desert  trail,  I  halted 
my  caravan  to  debate  with  my  despondent  valet  as  to  what 
would  be  the  wisest  move.  Should  we  go  east  or  west? 

"Flip  a  penny,"  said  Coonskin,  "Heads,  west;  tails, 
east !"  and  he  at  once  threw  the  coin  whirling  in  the  air, 
and  caught  it,  tails  up. 

"West  we  have  been  traveling,  and  west  we  shall  con- 
tinue to  go/'  I  said  positively ;  and  gave  the  command  to 
move  on,  adding :  "If  we  fail  to  discover  the  sign-board 
after  passing  beyond  the  mountain,  then  we'll  come  back 
and  search  to  the  east." 

We  had  proceeded  a  mile  and  a  half  when  Coonskin 
went  crazy,  or  had  a  fit,  and  I  emptied  the  canteen  in  his 
mouth.  This  revived  him.  He  had  partially  undressed 
and  was  trying  his  best  to  frighten  me  and  the  dog.  The 
sun  beat  down  furiously;  the  sky  wasn't  the  only  thing 
that  looked  blue.  I  raised  the  canteen  to  my  lips  and 
drained  it  of  the  last  and  only  drop.  My  tongue  hung  out 

358 


LAST   DROP   IN   THE   CANTEEN. 

swollen,  and  my  palate  and  throat  burned.  Another  half 
mile,  and  I  should  have  despaired,  when,  suddenly,  a  small 
white  board,  nailed  to  a  short  stake,  loomed  up  ahead  of 
us.  I  knew  intuitively  it  marked  the  branch  trail  to  the 
coveted  spring.  No  two  happier  mortals  ever  lived  than 
Coonskin  and  I.  We  threw  our  hats  in  the  air ;  we  shout- 
ed, and  hurrahed,  and  sang ;  and  turned  handsprings  and 
somersaults  on  the  white,  dusty  floor  of  the  desert.  An 
hour  later  my  little  caravan  had  climbed  the  canyon  to 
its  fountain,  and  there  we  men  fell  on  our  stomachs  with 
my  dog,  under  the  heels  of  the  five  donkeys  which  crowd- 
ed about  the  cool,  delicious  waters,  and  drank  until  seized 
by  the  collar  and  dragged  away  from  the  spring  by  a  man 
and  boy. 

Near  by  stood  prairie  schooners,  and  some  yards  be- 
yond were  their  horses,  nibbling  on  the  tops  of  sage 
brush.  The  party  was  bound  east,  and  did  us  a  kindness 
by  preventing  our  drinking  to  excess  in  our  condition. 

The  man  was  kind  enough  to  caution  me  before  depart- 
ing to  mark  well  the  sky  and  the  wind,  for  should  we  be 
caught  in  a  rain  in  that  dreaded  Red  Desert,  whose  soil  is 
so  tenacious,  we  would  "pass  in  our  chips"  without  doubt. 

At  one  o'clock  we  struck  out.  The  afternoon's  march 
was  just  as  tedious,  and  uncomfortably  hot,  and  thirst- 
provoking  as  that  of  the  previous  day.  But,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  fright  we  received  late  in  the  day  when  a  few 
drops  of  rain  fell  from  a  passing  cloud,  there  was  nothing 
to  mar  the  serenity  of  the  journey  to  Redding  Springs. 
The  long-traveled  trail  was  worn  to  a  depth  of  twenty 
inches  and  more  for  many  miles.  We  men,  especially  I, 
had  to  sit  our  animals  Turkish-fashion  to  avoid  being 
drawn  out  of  the  saddles  by  our  dragging  feet.  The 
march  after  sunset  to  two  in  the  morning  was  the  most 
wearisome.  Finally,  when  we  were  still  three  or  four 

359 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

miles  to  Redding,  I  heard  a  dog  bark  ahead  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  thought  we  were  almost  there.  Yet  we  traveled 
an  hour  and  a  half  before  the  buildings  of  the  ranch 
loomed  in  the  darkness.  Soon  we  had  supped,  and  were 
wrapped  in  slumber. 

Redding  Springs  is  a  great  oasis  in  the  Salt  Lake 
Desert.  Three  springs,  varying  from  fifty  to  one  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  in  diameter,  overflow  the  reeded  banks  and 
irrigate  a  wide  area  of  what  otherwise  might  be  an  arid 
spot.  An  Italian  owns  this  cattle-ranch  and  grows  most 
of  the  necessities  of  life ;  he  seemingly  is  content,  though 
far  removed  from  the  cheerful  and  busy  world.  He  be- 
lieved that  two  of  the  springs  were  bottomless,  and  had 
some  subterranean  outlet.  A  steer  once  attempted  to  swim 
across  one  pond,  and  was  drawn  under  by  the  suction  and 
never  seen  again.  To  prove  the  Italian's  theory,  these  two 
ponds,  or  springs,  contained  fish  whose  blindness  indicates 
they  must  have  lived  in  underground  channels  where  eye- 
sight was  not  required,  soon  losing  their  optics  altogether. 

Mac  A'Rony  observed,  when  I  had  related  to  him  the 
dago's  story  that  in  all  probability  the  steer  had  under- 
taken an  underground  voyage  to  join  a  herd  of  sea-cows 
in  the  Pacific. 

Our  much-needed  day  of  rest  was  a  delightful  one. 

It  was  a  twenty-eight  mile  journey  to  Deep  Creek.  My 
outfit  was  in  readiness  to  start  at  7  a.  m.  next  day.  The 
nine  miles  across  the  sage-covered  plain  to  the  mountains 
was  accomplished  in  a  little  over  three  hours;  then  my 
animals  began  slowly  to  climb  the  ascent  over  a  rough  but 
well-beaten  trail. 

By  carrying  out  the  directions  given  me  by  the  Italian, 
at  ten  that  night  my  fatigued  caravan  was  straggling 
along  the  western  slope  of  the  broad-shouldered  Deep 
Creek  range.  The  sky  was  clouded,  the  air  heavy  with 

360 


LAST   DROP   IN   THE   CANTEEN. 

mist ;  a  shower  was  imminent.  I  strained  my  eyes  to  fer- 
ret out  a  habitation  of  some  sort  from  among  the  distant 
and  faintly  twinkling  lights,  but  when  I  had  selected  one 
for  our  objective  point  and  gone  a  hundred  yards  or  so,  it 
suddenly  went  out,  and  I  had  to  single  out  another  one. 
Again  we  were  disappointed.  Evidently  it  was  the  bed- 
time hour ;  soon  all  the  lights  would  be  extinguished. 

Presently  rain  began  to  fall.  I  took  it  as  a  timely  warn- 
ing, and  ordered  camp.  We  pitched  our  tent  in  the  trail, 
the  only  place  in  which  we  could  spread  our  bed,  and 
crawled  under  cover  just  as  the  rain  poured  down  with  a 
vengeance. 

We  had  not  more  than  closed  our  eyes  than  Don  uttered 
a  growl  of  warning,  and  I  heard  the  sound  of  galloping 
hoofs  approaching.  I  sat  up.  Then  I  heard  the  tramp- 
ling of  sage  to  one  side  of  the  trail,  and  looking  out,  saw  a 
man  on  horseback.  "Hello  there !  Who  be  you  ?  Travel- 
in'  er  goin'  somewhere  ?"  called  a  voice.  I  liked  the  tone ; 
the  words  were  genial,  even  cheery.  When  I  answered, 
he  gave  us  an  urgent  invitation  to  pack  up  and  go  on  with 
him  to  his  cabin  a  half  mile  distant,  as  his  guests  until 
the  storm  abated. 

"I  thought  you  were  drunken  Injuns  at  first,"  said  he. 
"Not  common  for  white  men  to  camp  in  the  trail.  My 
horse  was  so  frightened  he  nearly  spilt  me,  shying  into 
the  chaparral." 

I  laughed  good-naturedly,  and  promised  to  arrive  at 
his  house  in  time  for  breakfast,  explaining  that  it  would 
not  be  worth  our  while  to  dress  and  pack  in  the  rain,  since 
we  were  perfectly  comfortable.  Soon  a  hush  fell  upon  the 
scene,  and  the  beating  rain  on  the  canvas  lulled  us  sweetly 
to  sleep. 

When  we  arose  in  the  morning,  everything  was  drip- 
ping and  a  furious  gale  blowing.  The  rain  appeared  to  be 

361 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

over,  but  no  sooner  had  we  packed  up  than  down  again  it 
came.  We  hustled  our  animals  up  the  muddy  incline,  and 
soon  rode  into  the  door-yard  of  the  only  cabin  on  the  trail, 
and  commenced  unpacking.  Soon  our  midnight  ac- 
quaintance, Murray,  and  his  chum,  an  old  man  who  went 
by  the  cognomen  of  Uncle  Tom,  came  out  and  welcomed 
us ;  both  our  hosts  were  effusive  in  their  hospitality.  One 
stabled  and  fed  the  donkeys,  and  the  other  ushered  us  into 
the  cabin  where  we  were  provided  with  dry  raiment  and  a 
hot  breakfast.  The  fire  in  the  stove  roared  in  triumph  and 
scorn  at  the  scudding  rain  and  wind  without,  while  I 
smiled  in  gratitude. 

The  men  brought  us  books  and  tobacco,  and  couldn't 
do  enough  for  us.  The  storm  soon  assumed  the  character 
of  a  hurricane ;  and  I  tried  to  fancy  my  little  party  strug- 
gling in  the  throes  of  those  merciless  elements  to  make 
headway  across  the  valley  and  up  the  western  mesa.  The 
gale  waged  all  day  and  night,  but  on  the  following  morn- 
ing the  sky  was  clear  and  the  wind  had  died  considerably. 
It  was  a  relief  to  get  out  of  the  stuffy  house  into  the  free 
and  open  air.  I  took  the  axe  and  exercised  myself  with 
chopping  wood  for  an  hour,  which  display  of  energy 
greatly  pleased  Uncle  Tom,  who,  I  assumed,  provided  the 
fuel  for  the  camp. 

Murray  was  to  start  at  eight  on  a  round-up;  so  I  re- 
sumed my  pilgrimage  at  the  same  time.  Before  good-byes 
were  said  he  presented  me  with  a  fine  hair  rope,  braided 
with  his  own  hands,  as  a  souvenir  of  the  happy  occasion. 
The  place  to  find  large  hearts  is  out  on  the  western  plains ! 

Nine  o'clock  saw  us  trampling  sage  in  a  short  cut  down 
the  slope  toward  a  small  group  of  log  houses,  designated 
as  Deep  Creek.  The  frontier  store  was  kept  by  an  Irish- 
man, but  bossed  by  his  wife,  who  tried  to  impress  me  with 
her  importance.  Adjoining  it  stood  another  old  shack, 

362 


LAST   DROP   IN   THE   CANTEEN. 

and  projecting  from  its  front  eves  was  a  small  signboard 
on  which  was  the  following  startling  announcement : 

ist.  class  dentestry 
All  kinds  dun  cheap.    Horses  a  specilty. 

Wimen  prefured. 
TERMS  CASH  or  credit. 

I  was  amused  at  the  novelty  of  this  dentist's  shingle ;  so 
was  Mac  A'Rony. 

"Poor  Damfino!"  he  ejaculated  presently,  as  I  rubbed 
his  nose.  "Can't  you  help  her  out  of  her  suffering  ?  The 
poor  girl  has  had  a  toothache  for  two  days." 

"Most  assuredly  I  will,"  I  said.  "Why  didn't  you  in- 
form me  before?"  And  forthwith  I  ferreted  out  the  fron- 
tier tooth-doctor.  He,  resurrected  from  his  prolonged 
lethargy,  hunted  up  a  dust-covered  tool-chest,  and  fol- 
lowed me  impetuously  to  his  asinine  patient. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 
BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

Of  all  tales  'tis  the  saddest — and  more  sad 
Because  it  makes  us  smile.  — Byron. 

Contrary  to  the  old  saw,  "Misery  loves  company," 
Damfino  wished  to  be  alone.  She  said  she  wanted  to 
cry,  but  couldn't.  She  had  the  sympathy  of  us  all.  Only 
those  who  have  suffered  can  appreciate  the  sufferings  of 
others.  I  never  shall  forget  my  profanity  and  the  pain 
that  prompted  it  when  the  too  considerate  Prof,  con- 
sented to  my  electric  bath. 

And  now,  with  the  same  kind  motives  oozing  out  of 
his  face,  he  introduced  the  sage  brush  dentist  to  Dam- 
fino. Dr.  Arrowroot  dropped  his  toolchest  and  seizing 
his  patient  by  the  upper  jaw  with  his  left  hand  and  by  the 
lower  jaw  with  his  right,  said:  "Open  up,  madam,"  and 
proceeded  to  examine  her  molars. 

"Locate  the  claim,  Doc?"  an  on-looker  asked,  face- 
tiously. 

The  doctor  said  he  did,  but  no  sooner  began  to  dig 
than  he  was  ejected.  Then  the  tooth-doctor  called  for 
volunteers  to  assist  him;  every  man  not  valuing  his  life 
responded.  Two  Mexicans  held  the  remote  end  of  a 
long  pole  and  pried  Damfino's  jaws  apart,  while  several 
Indians  and  halfbreeds  braced  against  her  sides  to  pre- 
vent her  from  kicking  and  falling. 

At  length,  Doc  fastened  his  forceps  on  the  ulcerated 
tooth,  and,  grinding  his  teeth  and  wrinkling  his  face, 

364 


HOW  DONKEY  PULLED  A  TOOTH. 

yanked  with  all  his  might.  He  might  just  as  well  have 
tried  to  pull  a  tree  out  of  the  ground.  He  rested  a  few 
moments,  then  sent  for  some  hay  wire  and  a  lariat,  and 
after  wiring  the  lariat  to  the  tooth,  tied  it  to  Damfino's 
hind  feet.  We  other  donks  were  holding  our  sides;  I 
thought  I  would  "bust."  Then,  when  the  patient  was 
unbound — that  cantankerous  donkey's  four  legs  were 
roped  together  to  prevent  further  excavations  in  the  local 
cemetery — there  was  performed  the  neatest,  cleverest, 
most  thoroughly  successful  piece  of  dental  surgery  that  I 
ever  heard  of.  That  moaning  "Old  maid"  just  kicked 
the  tooth  clean  out  of  her  jaw.  And,  s'help  me  Balaam ! 
the  root  of  all  that  evil  was  three  inches  long. 

Poor  Damfino  was  the  last  to  realize  that  the  trick  had 
been  accomplished,  and  kept  on  kicking  till  she  threw 
off  the  lariat  and  slung  the  molar  half  way  through  the 
side  of  the  store.  When  Pod  showed  her  the  tooth,  she 
brayed  for  the  loss  of  it,  and  as  evidence  of  her  ingrati- 
tude, the  shrew  turned  to  me  and  whispered:  "Mac, 
since  I  pulled  my  own  tooth,  how  can  that  brutal  dentist 
have  the  nerve  to  ask  pay  for  it?" 

"He  got  the  nerve  from  your  tooth,  like  as  not,"  I 
said.  "You  once  told  me  that  the  Bible  says,  'An  eye 
for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,' " — and  in  a  jiffy 
Damfino  made  for  that  innocent,  fleet-footed  tooth-doc- 
tor, before  Pod  could  have  time  to  settle  with  him. 

Before  long,  I  was  leading  the  troop  up  the  sage- 
covered  mesa  in  step  with  Damfino's  mutterings.  When 
we  arrived  at  Billy  Jones'  ranch,  Billy  was  leaning  on 
the  picket  fence  in  front  of  his  back  door.  His  house 
was  once  turned  around,  hind  side  foremost,  by  a  cyclone. 
He  was  munching  pinenuts,  and  did  not  budge,  at  first, 
taking  us  for  prospectors.  When  Pod  introduced  him- 
self, Billy  almost  fell  to  pieces  with  surprise.  Soon  Mrs. 

365 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

Jones  came  out,  and  Pod  was  almost  persuaded  to  re- 
main over  night. 

But  we  did  not  tarry.  It  was  dark  and  misty;  rain 
threatened  to  descend  any  moment.  When  darkness  set- 
tled, it  was  as  black  as  Egypt  and  almost  impossible  for 
me  to  follow  the  trail.  After  a  while  a  light  could  be 
seen  through  the  mist;  Pod  said  it  must  be  the  Tibbits' 
ranchhouse,  where  he  proposed  to  camp. 

Suddenly,  wwhile  chuckling  over  a  joke,  we  donks 
walked  slam-bang  against  a  barbed-wire  fence,  throwing 
the  men  into  a  rage.  Then  I  leading  the  way,  we  fol- 
lowed the  fence,  turned  a  corner  round  a  barn,  and  finally 
anchored  at  the  back  door  of  the  house.  Pod  found  the 
doorknob,  and  made  the  ranchman's  acquaintance,  while 
Coonskin  pitched  the  tent,  unpacked  and  picketed  us 
donks,  then  both  men  gathered  fire-wood  with  which  to 

cook.  Mr.  T ,  when  once  assured  that  Pod  was 

neither  beggar  nor  tramp,  authorized  us  animals  to  be 
fed  grain  and  hay;  but  his  wife  said  it  was  too  late  to 
prepare  supper  for  the  men.  This  did  not  disturb  Pod 
for  he  soon  had  one  prepared. 

My,  that  ranchman  was  close-fisted!  Pod  even  had  to 
pay  for  his  kindling  wood  before  starting  the  fire.  The 
old  man  was  a  plain-looking  ruddy-faced  Englishman, 
as  snobbish  as  he  was  penurious,  but  after  a  time  he  con- 
descended to  "join"  the  five  in  a  post-prandial  smoke. 
And  not  until  it  was  pounded  into  his  thick  cranium,  that 
his  strange  guests  were  traveling  like  princes  did  he  affect 
to  be  hospitable. 

Long  before  dawn,  our  donkey  matin  song  awoke  the 
natives  as  well  as  our  masters,  and  Pod  issued  from  the 
tent,  half  awake,  hardly  in  presentable  condition  to  face 
Madam  T.,  who  was  splitting  wood,  while  the  old  man 
looked  on.  He  now  insisted  on  his  "guests"  taking 

366 


HOW  DONKEY  PULLED  A  TOOTH. 

breakfast  with  him,  and  afterwards  charged  for  the 
bacon,  eggs,  coffee  and  bread  double  the  sum  charged 
by  other  ranchmen  previously.  The  bill  for  hay,  grain 
and  firewood  was  also  presented  and  paid  by  the  amused 
Prof.  Coonskin  was  rash  enough  to  hint  to  Mr.  T.  that 
by  some  oversight  no  charge  had  been  made  for  water, 
for  our  party  drank  lots,  but  the  Briton  said  no,  he'd  be 
generous. 

He  accompanied  us  horseback  four  miles,  nearly  to  the 
base  of  the  mountain,  where  we  turned  to  cross  the  pass, 
and  on  the  way  acquaint  us  with  the  superior  advantages 
of  country  life  in  England  as  compared  with  the  disad- 
vantages in  America,  and  admitted  that,  while  a  squatter 
in  the  West,  he  had  for  twenty-five  years  declined  to  be 
naturalized. 

The  climb  over  the  Antelope  Mountains  was  slow  and 
laborious.  Across  the  flat  valley  beyond,  mottled  with 
sage  and  greasewood,  alkali  and  sand  spots,  rose  the 
summits  of  the  Kern  Mountains.  We  trailed  through 
straggly  groves  of  dwarf  pines  laden  with  cones,  full  of 
tiny  nuts,  some  of  which  the  men  gathered  and  munched 
unroasted.  Coonskin  said  they  were  a  dandy  invention, 
just  the  thing  to  break  the  monotony  of  talk,  for  they 
kept  the  jaws  at  work  just  the  same;  and  they  were  so 
hard  to  gather  and  shuck  that  a  fellow  couldn't  eat  too 
many  to  crowd  the  stomach. 

The  valley  was  about  ten  miles  broad;  we  crossed  it 
and  camped  at  the  base  of  another  range  of  mountains, 
near  the  V—  -  sheep  ranch.  The  boss  was  away,  but 
his  genial  wife  and  son  were  holding  down  the  claim. 
They  visited  camp  after  supper,  listened  to  the  Professor's 
marvelous  tales,  and  next  morning  the  good  woman  sent 
her  son  horseback  to  lead  us  beyond  the  point  of  con- 
flicting trails,  to  the  entrance  to  the  pass  to  Schelbourne. 

367 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

As  the  lad  rode  off  we  donks  joined  in  that  pathetic 
hymn:  "One  more  mountain  to  cross/'  just  as  a  sort  of 
parting  serenade. 

The  trail  was  smooth,  but  in  some  places  almost  oblit- 
erated; it  was  the  old  pony  express  trail  of  ante-railroad 
days.  Sometimes  it  was  steep  and  we  donks  puffed  like 
engines.  There  were  the  charred  stumps  of  the  tele- 
graph poles  that  the  Injuns  burned  to  annoy  Uncle  Sam, 
and  occasional  ruins  of  stone  or  adobe  cabins  or  saloons, 
relics  of  those  hot  times  of  savages  and  fire-water.  Every 
time  I  saw  one  of  them  I  felt  dry. 

By  ii  a.  m.  we  had  crossed  the  summit  and  were 
resting  near  the  great  stone  barn  of  Schelbourne.  It 
is  built  strong,  with  sheet-iron  doors  and  shutters,  and 
high  enough  to  admit  a  stage  coach  and  four.  When 
the  Injuns  used  to  get  out  for  a  little  holiday  sport,  the 
stage,  freighted  with  passengers,  mail  and  express,  used 
to  drive  in  at  a  two-forty  gait;  and  I've  heard"  tell  how 
the  iron  doors  would  shut  and  give  the  coach  a  friendly 
boost  in  the  nick  of  time  to  receive  on.  their  armor  a 
hail  of  leaden  bullets  or  a  shower  of  poisoned  arrows. 

On  reaching  the  plain,  I  heard  my  master  tell  his  valet 
we  would  spend  that  night  at  Green's  ranch.  I  was  glad, 
for  I  was  hungry;  the  savory  smell  of  the  nuts  the  men 
cliewed  was  tantalizing.  Midway  the  plain  we  were 
stopped  to  enable  Pod  to  empty  a  sackful  of  cones, 
which  Cheese  had  threshed  by  his  wibble-wobble  motion, 
and  to  refill  their  pockets  with  nuts.  At  length,  we  ar- 
rived at  Green's  a  half-hour  after  dark.  Here  we  donks 
were  fed  and  watered;  then  Coonskin  proceeded  to  get 
camp  ready  for  the  night,  while  Pod  made  a  fashionable 
call  on  Mrs.  Green.  And — well,  he  will  tell  you  what 
happened. 


368 


CHAPTER  L. 

BY   PYE   POD. 

Here,  brother  Sancho,  we  may  dip  our  hands  up  to  the  elbows  in 
what  they  call  adventures.  But  take  note,  though  thou  seest  me 
in  the  greatest  danger  on  earth,  thou  must  not  set  thy  hand  to 
thy  sword  to  defend  me,  unless  thou  shouldst  perceive  that  they 
who  assail  me  are  rabble  and  low  people,  in  which  case  thou  canst 
come  to  my  aid. — Don  Quixote. 

It  was  early  evening,  October  5,  at  Green's  ranch. 
The  somber  quiet  of  the  place  seemed  to  indicate  a  de- 
serted estate,  but  a  dim  light  in  the  window  invited  me 
to  knock.  At  once  I  heard  feet  shuffle  across  the  floor, 
and  a  bolt  slide  in  the  door. 

"Who  be  you?"  called  a  woman,  distinctly. 

I  introduced  myself  through  the  key-hole  and  was  ad- 
mitted. Mrs.  Green  extended  me  a  left-handed  greet- 
ing while  holding  a  sixshooter  in  her  right  hand.  It  was 
a  most  interesting  reception. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that?"  I  inquired, 
smiling.  The  idea  that  a  frontier  woman  should  be  so 
easily  frightened  seemed  ridiculous. 

"Haven't  you  heard?"  she  returned.  "Why,  the  whole 
country  is  up  in  arms  looking  for  two  desperate  outlaws. 
They  shot  a  sheep-herder  last  night  in  Telegraph  Can- 
yon, and  after  robbing  the  fellow  of  four  dollars,  left  him 
for  dead.  Mr.  Green  went  to  Egan  Canyon  this  after- 
noon for  the  mail,  and  hasn't  returned.  He  ought  to  be 
back  by  now.  It  is  only  three  miles  away."  Here  the 

369 


ON  A  DONKEY'S   HURRICANE  DECK 

somewhat  perturbed  woman  glanced  at  the  clock,  which 
indicated  8:00. 

I  conversed  with  Mrs.  Green  a  few  moments,  and  she 
invited  us  men  to  supper  and  told  me  to  feed  my  animals 
from  the  hay-stack.  I  said  we  were  well  provided  with 
food  and  fire-arms,  that  she  might  feel  quite  safe  from 
the  brigands.  Now  Coonskin  called  for  me  and  said  our 
evening  meal  was  under  way.  So,  I  bade  Mrs.  Green  a 
good  night. 

Coonskin,  whose  chief  literary  diet  had  been  dime 
novels,  listened  to  the  news  with  rapt  attention,  and 
suggested  that  I  cook  while  he  prepared  camp  for  a 
sudden  attack. 

"Gee!  Wouldn't  I  like  to  capture  'em,  though!"  he 
said  enthusiastically. 

"I  would  like  to  see  you  try  it,"  I  returned;  "you  have 
been  'spoiling'  for  a  scrap  with  an  Indian,  or  a  desperado, 
or  some  wild  beast  ever  since  we  crossed  the  borders, 
and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  this  were  your  opportunity. 
Something  tells  me  that  we'll  meet  these  outlaws." 

Supper  over  and  dishes  washed,  we  retired.  Our  bed, 
only  separated  from  the  earth  by  a  single  canvas,  never 
was  more  comfortable.  The  night  was  cool  and  a  gentle 
breeze  was  blowing,  but  there  was  no  sound,  save  the 
braying  of  the  donks.  Suddenly  I  heard  Don,  who  was 
on  guard,  growl,  then  a  sound  of  wheels  and  a  horse's 
whinny. 

"Will  your  dog  bite,  Mr.  Pod?"  called  Mr.  Green. 

I  rushed  out  barefoot  and  dispelled  his  fears,  and, 
after  shaking  hands,  questioned  him  how  he  knew  who 
I  was. 

"Oh,"  he  chuckled,  "anybody  would  know  you  by 
your  outfit;  besides,  everybody  along  the  trail  has  been 
expecting  you,  even  two  desperadoes." 

370 


ENCOUNTER   WITH   TWO   DESPERADOES. 

This  was  interesting.  But  I  explained  that  his  wife 
had  told  me  all,  whereupon  he  invited  us  men  to  break- 
fast, and  was  escorted  by  Don  to  a  point  which  he  con- 
sidered the  limit  of  his  master's  domain. 

While  at  breakfast  I  learned  that  the  Salt  Lake  news- 
papers, containing  illustrated  accounts  of  my  prosperity, 
had  subscribers  all  along  the  trail;  that  the  shooting  at 
Telegraph  Canyon  was  the  first  in  that  section  for  six- 
teen years;  that  no  pay-boxes  were  expected  at  the  Egan 
mill,  where  a  half  dozen  men  were  working;  and  that, 
what  was  of  more  importance  than  the  rest,  it  was  the 
prevailing  opinion  that  Pye  Pod  was  the  man  the  out- 
laws were  laying  for. 

"Griswold  is  the  unfortunate  man's  name,"  said  Green. 
"The  outlaws  pretended  to  be  friendly,  lunched  with  him, 
and  started  off  on  their  horses.  But  Griswold  had  no 
sooner  turned  his  back  than  the  strangers  ordered  him 
to  throw  up  his  hands.  They  took  all  his  funds,  shot 
him,  and  galloped  away  with  his  good  horses,  leaving 
their  jaded  ones.  The  poor  fellow  regained  conscious- 
ness, and  managed  by  morning  to  crawl  six  miles  to  a 
ranch.  Resolute  men  hurriedly  saddled  their  horses, 
and  soon  thirty  were  after  the  outlaws.  I  hear  Griswold 
is  with  them,  he  having  recovered.  But  they  say  at 
Egan  that  some  of  the  boys  this  afternoon  gave  up  the 
chase,  because  it  was  getting  too  warm  for  them;  they 
felt  pretty  near  the  game." 

Mr.  Green  gave  me  a  second-handed  description  of  the 
desperadoes  and  their  outfit,  and  directing  me  on  my 
route,  wished  us  Godspeed. 

I  felt  that  my  route  forced  me  to  overtake  rather  than 
to  meet  by  chance  two  men  who  set  but  little  value  on 
other  men's  lives,  and  even  less  on  their  own;  therefore 

37i 


ON  A  DONKEY'S   HURRICANE  DECK 

having  everything  to  gain  and  nothing  to  lose,  they  put 
up  the  best  kind  of  a  fight. 

We  soon  arrived  at  Egan,  where  we  were  kindly  re- 
ceived. The  men  showed  us  about  the  works,  allowing 
me  to  take  photographs,  and  gave  me  a  more  accurate 
description  of  the  outlaws,  and  the  long  trail  of  a  hun- 
dred miles  to  Eureka.  At  three  points  only  should  we 
find  water,  at  Nine  Mile  Spring,  Thirty  Mile  and  Pinto 
Creek,  the  latter  being  seventy  miles  away.  No  habita- 
tion would  we  see;  only  an  occasional  coyote,  or  a  band 
of  wild  horses,  or  possibly  some  prairie  schooner,  or  the 
outlaws,  or  some  of  the  posses. 

By  trailing  through  Egan  Canyon  we  cut  the  back- 
bone of  the  mountain  range  and  now,  at  an  altitude  of 
several  hundred  feet  above  the  plain,  were  climbing 
higher  and  higher  the  rugged  plateau,  until  we  reached 
Nine  Mile,  and  unpacked.  The  spring  was  in  a  grassy 
spot,  and  Coonskin  first  replenished  our  canteens,  then 
released  the  donkeys. 

It  was  noon.  Accustomed  as  we  were  to  travel  on  two 
meals  a  day,  I  could  set  no  regular  hour  for  them.  It 
was  twenty-one  miles  to  Thirty  Mile  Spring.  So  we 
cooked  here. 

The  desperadoes  formed  the  chief  topic  of  discussion, 
even  Don  showed  the  bloodhound  in  him,  and,  ever  since 
leaving  Egan,  showed  unusual  excitement  and  was  more 
vigilant.  We  must  have  crossed  the  tracks  of  the  out- 
laws, or  were  following  them  unwittingly.  Taking 
everything  into  consideration,  we  were  in  a  fair  mood  to 
be  startled  when  the  dog  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  growled. 
Then  three  men,  heavily  armed,  galloped  up  and  dis- 
mounted. I  was  relieved  when  I  saw  one  of  the  riders 
wearing  a  bandage  round  his  head;  it  must  be  Griswold. 

The  strangers  left  their  steeds  standing,  each  tying  a 

372 


ENCOUNTER   WITH   TWO   DESPERADOES. 

rein  to  a  stirrup,  then  introduced  themselves.  We  had 
just  finished  lunch  and  were  smoking  when  the  posse 
arrived;  but  now  Coonskin  cooked  for  our  friends,  while 
I  did  all  the  honors  and  gleaned  all  the  information 
essential  to  our  interests.  They  were  affable  fellows  and 
resolute,  but  had  set  out  hardly  equipped  for  the  chase. 
One  picked  up  a  two-quart  canteen,  saying  good- 
naturedly  that  he  reckoned  he  would  have  to  rustle  it. 
I  said  they  were  welcome  to  anything  I  could  spare. 

Before  separating  on  our  several  missions,  Coonskin 
photographed  the  party,  and  Griswold  repeated  his  de- 
scription of  the  outlaws.  Couriers  had  been  dispatched  to 
Ely,  Hamilton,  Eureka,  and  other  points;  these  men 
were  bound  for  Hunter,  seven  miles  over  the  mesa.  Be- 
fore leaving  they  asked  me  if  I  would  blaze  a  sage-brush 
fire  that  night  should  I  reach  Thirty  Mile  and  discover 
any  evidence  of  the  bandits.  They  also  admonished  me 
to  hold  up  and  shoot  without  considering  an  instant  any 
two  mounted  men  of  the  description  given,  else  we  two 
would  never  live  to  tell  how  it  happened. 

With  this  parting  injunction,  unofficial  though  it  was, 
the  riders  loped  away,  and  my  nervous  troop,  at  half-past 
two,  "hit  the  trail"  in  lively  form.  I  was  glad  the  coun- 
try was  clear  and  open.  Only  an  occasional  dwarf  cedar 
stood  in  dark  relief  against  the  sage.  About  midnight 
the  grade  began  perceptibly  to  grow  steeper,  and  in  con- 
sequence of  the  clouds  which  had  gathered  the  darkness 
was  dense.  I  felt  we  must  be  near  to  Thirty  Mile.  The 
idea  of  passing  the  spring  and  having  to  trace  our  steps 
next  morning  was  not  to  be  entertained.  Seeing  a  bunch 
of  cedars  some  distance  to  the  right,  I  headed  for  them. 
And  there  we  camped.  Behind  the  screen  of  three  small 
trees  and  the  darkness  we  spread  our  blankets,  lunched 
on  bread  and  cold  meat,  and  went  to  sleep.  The  donk- 

373 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

eys  were  picketed  still  another  hundred  yards  back,  so 
as  not  to  be  seen  from  the  trail;  we  did  not  light  a  fire. 

By  ten  o'clock  next  morning  we  had  breakfasted,  and 
were  trailing  toward  the  summit  of  the  plateau.  Three 
miles  further  on  was  Thirty  Mile.  Here  again  I  un- 
packed the  animals  for  an  hour's  grazing  on  the  grass 
by  the  spring. 

The  noon  hour  found  us  weary  travelers  reclining  on  a 
heap  of  blankets.  To  the  east,  some  fifty  feet  away, 
stood  a  tub,  obscured  by  pussy  willows,  and  brimming 
with  cool  water  furnished  by  a  cedar  trough  which 
reached  from  the  bubbling  spring.  The  overflow  streamed 
down  a  tiny  gorge  in  the  hard  soil,  under  cover  of  the  wil- 
lows, and  finally  sank  in  the  earth. 

"I'm  afraid  the  fellows  ain't  going  to  bother  us  after 
all,"  said  Coonskin  disappointedly,  at  length.  "I'd  give 
a  farm  to  get  a  whack  at  them." 

He  had  no  sooner  uttered  the  words  than  he  turned 
pale,  and  I  turned  to  behold  two  small  moving  dots  on 
the  horizon,  some  two  miles  down  the  trail.  "Jove!" 
he  added,  "I  believe  the  outlaws  are  coming." 

Indeed,  I  could  make  out  two  men,  mounted  on  a  dark 
and  a  light-colored  horse  respectively,  slowly  approach- 
ing. Assigning  to  my  valet  the  shot-gun  and  the  Smith 
&  Wesson  double-action  revolver,  I  loaded  two  extra 
shells  with  buckshot,  tested  the  locks  of  my  Winchester 
and  single-action  Colt  revolver,  gave  Coonskin  explicit 
instructions,  and  awaited  events. 

When  the  strange  riders  rode  to  within  a  half  mile  of 
us  they  stopped  and  dismounted.  It  was  plain  they  were 
cinching  their  saddles,  probably  preparing  to  do  some 
rough  riding.  The  dark  horse  appeared  to  be  somewhat 
darker  than  the  one  described  by  Griswold,  but  I  was 
cautioned  that  they  might  exchange  a  horse  for  one  on 

374 


ENCOUNTER  WITH   TWO   DESPERADOES. 

the  range  in  order  to  mislead  their  pursuers.  They  and 
their  outfit  in  all  other  respects  tallied  with  the  descrip- 
tion given  to  me. 

My  companion  in  arms,  who  of  late  had  evinced  such 
courage,  now  showed  signs  of  weakening.  He  protested 
that  it  would  be  better  not  to  attempt  to  hold  up  the  fel- 
lows until  we  were  sure  we  were  right,  and  when  I  said 
that  I  proposed  to  get  the  drop  on  them  the  first  oppor- 
tunity offered,  and  to  shoot  if  necessary,  and  should 
count  on  him  to  aid  me,  he  was  speechless.  Don  seemed 
to  understand,  and  stationing  himself  some  ten  feet  be- 
fore us,  watched  the  strangers  eagerly.  I  assured  Coon- 
skin  that  if  our  dog  allowed  those  horsemen  to  enter 
camp,  we  could  rest  easy,  but  if,  when  I  hailed  them, 
Don  uttered  a  protest,  we  could  mark  them  as  the  out- 
laws. "Don't  let  them  corral  us,"  I  cautioned;  "if  they 
get  us  between  them,  the  game  is  up." 

Those  were  anxious  moments  for  me,  as  well  as  for 
the  young  man  who  was  ten  years  my  junior.  I  was 
seated  on  our  packs,  my  Winchester  lying  across  my 
knees,  cocked;  Coonskin  sat  on  the  ground  at  my  right, 
with  shot-gun  in  hand.  Our  revolvers  were  in  our  belts. 
Our  bearded  and  sun-burned  faces,  long  hair,  and  gen- 
erally rough  attire,  added  to  our  unfriendly  attitude,  must 
have  puzzled  the  approaching  horsemen.  When  they 
had  come  to  a  hundred  feet  from  us,  I  called  roughly, 
"Helloa,  boys!  come  in.  You're  just  in  time  for  grub." 

Instantly  Don  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  with  tail  straight 
out  and  body  trembling  from  rage  he  uttered  a  savage 
growl  of  defiance.  He  identified  the  desperadoes. 

Instantly  reining  their  steeds,  one  of  them  slung  some 
simple  questions  at  me,  designed,  no  doubt,  to  throw  us 
off  guard. 

"Purty  nice  lot  of  burros  you've  got,"  he  began. 

375 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

"Pretty  fair,"  I  replied  disinterestedly. 

"Which  way  you  traveling?" 

"West.    Where  're  you  bound?"  I  inquired. 

"Just  lookin'  round.  Which  is  the  trail  to  Hamil- 
ton?" 

I  did  not  answer.  Then  the  man  asked:  "How  far  is 
it?" 

"I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care  a  d ,"  I  answered. 

coarsely,  with  bravado,  as  if  I  considered  it  wasting  time 
to  talk. 

The  smiling  outlaw  now  looked  grave,  and  turning  to 
his  comrade  asked,  loud  enough  for  me  to  hear:  "Shall 
we  go  in  and  cook?" 

"No,  better  water  our  horses  and  go  on,"  said  the 
partner. 

Then,  quite  as  I  anticipated,  while  the  more  slender 
man  rode  direct  to  the  tub  of  water,  to  the  right  of  us, 
the  other  guided  his  horse  to  our  left,  to  hem  Coonskin 
and  me  in  between  them. 

Instantly  I  rose  to  my  feet,  and  trailing  the  rifle  over 
my  wrist  strode,  eyeing  him  defiantly,  in  a  line  at  a  right 
angle  with  the  course  of  his  horse,  but  the  rogue  did 
not  go  far  before  turning  his  steed  in  the  direction  of  the 
tub.  There  both  men  dismounted  behind  their  steeds, 
took  off  the  bridles  with  spade  bits  that  their  horses 
might  drink,  and  regarded  us  tenderfeet  with  some  re- 
spect and  concern.  They  handled  their  bridles  with  their 
left  hands,  which  left  their  right  hands  free  to  use  the 
revolvers  I  had  seen  in  their  belts;  in  view  of  which  fact, 
Coonskin  and  I  took  shelter  behind  our  donkeys,  three 
of  which  were  lying  down  after  rolling,  and,  aggressive 
as  well  as  defensive,  awaited  our  opportunity. 

Presently  the  spokesman  of  this  bandit  party,  inquired: 
"Say,  fellows,  have  you  seen  three  armed  men  mounted, 

376 


"Through  Devil's  Gate,  their  panniers  scraped  the  ivalls." 


Tired  their  revolvers  in  the  air." 


ENCOUNTER   WITH   TWO   DESPERADOES. 

looking  for  two  fellows  riding  a  grey  horse,  bare-foot, 
and  a  sorrel  with  a  bald  face,  they  claimed  shot  a  man  in 
Telegraph  Canyon?" 

"Not  exactly,"  I  said  with  a  faint  smile.  "Don't  think 
I  ever  saw  three  armed  men."  I  waited  a  few  seconds 
for  my  levity  to  produce  the  desired  effect,  then  added: 
"There  were  three  determined-looking  fellows  armed 
with  double-barreled  shot-guns  who  stopped  here.  They 
were  man-hunting." 

"That  so?"  queried  the  outlaw,  quite  excitably.  "How 
long  ago  were  they  here?  Where'd  they  go?" 

"Oh  just  a  little  while  ago.  They  took  in  a  few  cans 
of  water,  I  here  pointed  in  their  direction,  and  said: 
"They  were  going  to  cook  over  there  behind  that  knoll." 

At  once,  as  I  hoped  they  would,  the  desperadoes  were 
thrown  off  their  guard  and  looked  behind  them.  And 
as  they  did  so  I  raised  my  rifle  and  whispered  to  Coon- 
skin  to  pull  on  them.  But  "Sancho"  never  budged,  his 
courage  had  left  him.  The  outlaws  turned  their  eyes 
upon  us  so  quickly  I  think  they  must  have  overheard  my 
whispered  command.  They  hastily  bridled,  mounted, 
and  rode  southwesterly  in  the  direction  we  were  bound, 
while  turning  in  their  saddles  and  watching  us  until  they 
were  beyond  range  of  our  guns. 

I  was  in  the  mood  to  "jump"  Coonskin  for  not  aiding 
me  to  hold  up  the  outlaws.  Our  one  great  opportunity 
to  distinguish  ourselves  on  the  journey  was  lost.  "Think 
of  the  receptions  we  would  have  had  if  we  had  captured 
and  disarmed  those  desperadoes,  and  marched  them 
handcuffed  into  Ely,  the  county  seat !  And  think  of  the 
handsome  reward,"  I  said. 

The  thought  of  a  forfeited  reward  seemed  to  stagger 
the  boy.  I  concluded  my  lecture  with  the  emphasized 
mandate  that  henceforth  I  must  not  detect  any  unusual 

377 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

display  of  courage  or  prowess  on  his  part,  unless  it  should 
be  solicited  by  me,  and  furthermore,  I  did  not  wish  to 
hear  any  expressions  of  desire  to  attack  anything  more 
formidable  than  a  jack-rabbit. 

Our  donkeys  were  soon  packed  for  a  twenty-mile  even- 
ing tramp  toward  Pinto  Creek.  I  pinned  a  penciled 
message  on  paper  to  the  tub  before  departing,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  posse,  and  niy  caravan  was  on  the  move 
again.  About  midnight  we  made  a  dry  camp  at  a  dis- 
creet distance  from  the  trail,  where  without  building  a 
fire  we  made  a  cold  lunch  serve  for  our  second  meal  that 
day,  and  retired. 

Next  morning  early  we  resumed  the  journey.  By  two 
o'clock  we  had  crossed  the  Long  Valley  Mountains  and 
were  on  the  margin  of  a  sage-covered  plain,  still  probably 
twenty  miles  to  Pinto.  Several  times  we  were  puzzled 
by  forking  trails,  and  were  in  doubt  whether  we  were 
on  the  right  one  to  Eureka. 

I  judged  the  valley  to  be  ten  miles  wide.  On  we  rode, 
the  plucky  animals  swinging  slowly  along  in  that  awk- 
ward yet  amusing  hip-movement  characteristic  of  the 
burro,  until  I  distinguished  across  the  plain  what  looked 
to  be  a  house.  I  decided  to  head  for  it.  We  arrived 
there  at  five  o'clock,  to  find  the  place  temporarily  de- 
serted, to  discover  a  fine  spring  and  plenty  of  hay. 
Here  we  cooked  our  evening  meal  and  were  enjoy- 
ing a  smoke  when  two  men  rode  up  with  an  air  of  con- 
scious proprietorship.  They  were  Mr.  Robinson,  pro- 
prietor of  Newark  Mines,  and  his  superintendent.  Both 
were  very  hospitable.  Mr.  Robinson  invited  me  to  help 
myself  to  anything  I  or  my  party  needed,  regretted  that 
we  had  not  waited  to  dine  with  him,  and  asked  us  to 
spend  the  evening  at  his  house  and  breakfast  with  him. 

When  I  told  them  the  story  of  our  experience  with  the 

378 


ENCOUNTER   WITH   TWO   DESPERADOES. 

outlaws,  they  were  greatly  interested,  and  it  called  forth 
many  tales  of  adventure  from  both  those  frontiersmen. 
We  were  treated  to  a  heaping  plate  of  delicious  apples, 
and  it  was  a  late  hour  before  we  sought  our  tents.  It 
was  a  relief  to  feel  myself  well  beyond  the  outlaws' 
domain. 

Next  day  my  good  host  directed  his  superintendent  to 
guide  us  over  Chihuahua  Pass,  which  would  save  us  a 
fifteen-mile  journey  around  the  extremity  of  the  moun- 
tain by  way  of  Pinto. 

The  climb  over  the  pass  was  rich  with  beautiful  views. 
After  rising  several  hundred  feet  and  looking  back,  the 
vista  between  the  summits  and  the  plains  glistening  in 
the  sun  was  superb.  The  mines  were  a  mile  or  two  up 
the  canyon,  and  to  this  point  my  kind  host  accompanied 
us,  after  which  his  man  on  horseback  led  us  over  the 
roughest  and  most  puzzling  part  of  the  trail. 

So  narrow  was  the  passage  through  Devil's  Gate  that 
two  animals  could  not  walk  abreast,  and  their  panniers 
often  scraped  the  rough  walls  of  the  winding  and  rocky 
gate-way.  Having  once  gained  the  summit,  a  great  oval 
of  bench-land  spotted  with  buffalo-grass,  we  rested  and 
grazed  the  donkeys  while  we  lunched;  then  we  shook 
hands  with  the  good-hearted  guide,  and  trailed  down  the 
long,  pine-covered  slope  to  Eureka. 


379 


CHAPTER    LI. 

BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

I  will  feed  you  to  bursting. — The  Fair  God. 

Eureka  is  a  good  old  mining  town  that  saw  its  finish 
when  Congress  demonetized  silver.  As  have  some 
clouds,  it  has  a  silver  lining;  the  earth  beneath  and  the 
surrounding  hills  are  rich,  or  rather  poor,  in  the  white 
metal.  A  few  of  the  mines  were  still  operating,  and  any 
one  could  see  ten-horse  teams  drawing  ore  done  up 
in  bags,  like  grain,  to  fool  any  mule  or  donk.  The 
night  we  hungry  donkeys  arrived  in  town  we  followed 
a  wagon  filled  with  bags  of  ore  a  quarter  of  a  mile  out 
of  our  course  before  Prof,  discovered  the  mistake. 

I  observed  that  the  populace  didn't  take  much  in- 
terest in  what  I  had  to  say,  so  I  didn't  say  much,  but  I 
thought  lots,  and  stored  away  plenty  of  grain  and  hay, 
to  say  nothing  of  water.  The  amount  I  drank  would 
make  a  camel  envious.  But  I  wasn't  satisfied.  I  hadn't 
tasted  fruit  for  a  long  time.  So  I  got  out  of  the  corral, 
strolled  to  a  grocery  store,  and  helped  myself  to  dried 
apples;  I  was  about  to  nab  a  bacon  when  I  was  driven 
away  to  a  watering-trough  by  a  kind  boy  who  knew 
a  thing  or  two,  and  then  led  to  the  corral. 

I  remembered  having  eaten  less  than  two  quarts  of 
apples,  but  before  ten  minutes  were  gone  I  easily  be- 
lieved I  had  eaten  ten  bushel.  To  look  at  me  you  would 
have  sworn  I  had  swallowed  a  barrelful,  barrel 
and  all.  Most  of  the  day,  I  spent  rolling  round  the 

380 


DONK,    BOY   AND   DRIED   APPLES. 

corral  in  pain.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  knew 
what  it  was  to  be  really  tight. 

The  kind  boy  stood  innocently  by,  and  a  companion 
of  his  dared  him  to  go  up  first.  "Up  where?"  asked 
the  kind  boy. 

"Up  in  the  balloon,  yo'  big  idiot!"  said  the  other. 
"Jest  got  ter  tie  a  basket  to  his  tail,  and  git  in,  and 
hang  on.  Fillin'  fast,  he'll  rise  purty  soon." 

That  mockery  was  more  than  I  could  stand  while  lying 
down,  so  I  rolled  on  to  my  feet  and  made  both  boys 
scarce.  And  if  a  horse-doctor  hadn't  stabbed  me,  the 
kind  boy  would  have  needed  a  balloon  to  save  him- 

That  evening  saw  me  well  again,  but  my  cravings  took 
a  different  turn.  I  had  a  taste  for  a  newspaper.  Finally 
a  man  threw  one  to  me.  Among  its  contents,  I  ran 
across  the  following  squib,  and  smiled: 

"MAC  TEMPTED  AND  DRIVEN  OUT. 

Some  vixen  let  out  one  of  Pye  Pod's  burros — it  hap- 
pened to  be  his  pet  jack — then  drove  him  to  Pete  Dago's 
open-air  lunch  counter,  where  the  ass  helped  himself 
to  that  diet  which  would  go  farthest,  yet  take  up  the 
least  room — dried  apples.  It's  a  sad  story,  but  the  worst 
is  over,  and  save  a  small  doctor's  bill,  and  a  grocer's 
bill,  and  a  five  dollar  bill,  and  the  small  boy,  Bill,  who 
has  been  placed  in  the  coop  for  the  night,  no  other  bill 
figures  in  the  case.  The  distinguished  party  leave  in  the 
morning,  also  the  nigh  extinguished  party  (meaning  me). 
Adam  was  the  first  ass  to  be  tempted  to  eat  of  for- 
bidden fruit,  but  not  the  last.  Adam  blamed  Eve.  Mac 
blames  a  kind  boy.  Adam  deserved  some  commisera- 
tion for  having  perhaps  sampled  apples  too  green,  for 
we  know  what  it  is  to  be  a  boy,  but  no  compassion  can 
be  tendered  the  'narrow-gage  mule'  that  is  such  an  ass 

381 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

as  to  pack  away  a  hundred  pounds  of  evaporated  apples, 
gulp  down  a  cistern,  and  expect  to  fly." 

During  his  sojourn  Pod  wrote  his  weekly  letter,  dis- 
cussed the  desperadoes  with  the  sheriff,  photographed 
some  crippled,  dried-up  Piute  Indians,  and  doctored  the 
sick  dog,  for  Don  had  on  the  trail  imbibed  too  freely 
of  alkali  water. 

We  left  town  the  morning  of  October  nth,  and  ar- 
rived at  the  Willows  about  midnight,  after  a  long 
forced  march  through  a  wilderness.  There  Pod  pitched 
camp.  Neighing  broncos  disturbed  my  dreams,  and 
daylight  revealed  a  bunch  of  cowboys  on  a  round-up, 
also  a  bale  of  hay,  which  set  us  all  braying  so  loudly 
that  we  awoke  the  men  in  time  to  start  for  Austin 
before  the  sun  got  scorching  hot. 

The  cowboys  were  a  jolly  lot.  They  gave  an  exhibi- 
tion of  rough  riding  which  nearly  frightened  Damfino 
into  epileptics  and  Don  into  hydrophobia.  Then  the 
whole  lot  of  'em  fired  their  revolvers  in  the  air  and 
skooted  through  the  sage,  yelling  like  mad. 

Our  next  stop  was  the  Blackbird  ranch,  twenty-five 
miles  further  on,  whose  hospitable  proprietor  showed 
greater  interest  in  the  novel  tent  than  in  anything  else. 
Coonskin  took  it  down  with  one  hand,  pitched  it  with 
two  feet,  and  while  the  wondering  spectators  pulled  their 
whiskers,  bound  up  the  canvas  and  tied  the  rope  with 
his  teeth. 

The  seventy-five  mile  journey  from  Eureka  to  Austin 
was  accomplished  in  three  days.  There,  the  Professor  lec- 
tured to  an  immense  audience. 

Austin  is  another  mining  town  that  had  seen  more 
prosperous  times;  its  people,  like  those  of  Eureka,  were 
cordial  and  generous.  When  Pod  and  I  led  the  troop 

382 


DONK,   BOY   AND   DRIED   APPLES. 

out  of  town,  he  was  considerably  enriched  in  pocket  and 
mind. 

Twelve  mile  ranch  is  twelve  miles  from  the  town. 
Same,  I  suppose,  as  October  thirteenth  is  the  I3th  of 
the  month.  Here  was  a  large  stock  ranch,  and  the  thrifty 
proprietor  did  his  best  to  persuade  my  stubborn  master 
to  remain  over  night,  at  least  until  the  threatening  storm 
had  passed.  He  would  not  tarry,  but  hustled  us  on 
in  a  drizzling  rain. 

By  nightfall  we  began  to  climb  a  canyon  winding  over 
the  Shoshone  Mountains,  I  think,  and  about  midnight 
reached  the  summit  in  a  blinding  snow  squall.  The 
wind  blew  at  half  a  hurricane  gait,  and  the  men  were 
mad  because  they  couldn't  light  a  match  to  look  at  the 
compass  and  get  their  bearings,  and  Damfino  laid  down 
on  the  dog  that  had  lain  under  the  donkey  to  get  out  of 
the  ice-shod  wind,  and  the  men  wasted  twenty  minutes 
searching  for  the  right  trail. 

You  see,  my  biped  friends,  that  another  range  of 
mountains  met  the  Shoshones  at  right  angles  at  this 
point,  and  it  was  dollars  to  nutmegs  that  the  men  would 
miss  the  trail  in  the  dark,  which  happened;  as  the  result, 
two  hours  later,  our  outfit  slid  into  camp  for  the  rest  of 
the  night  some  two  half  miles  from  the  plain.  Breakfast 
was  served  at  ten.  Menu :  sage  brush  for  five. 

We  were  on  the  north  side,  and  the  wrong  side,  of 
the  range,  plain  enough.  Pod  said  it  was  Coonskin's 
fault,  Coonskin  claimed  the  Prof,  was  to  blame,  and  the 
dispute  would  have  ended  in  the  blessings  of  the  pipe 
of  peace  if  Coxey  and  Cheese  had  not  chewed  up  the 
only  bag  of  tobacco  while  the  men  were  feeding. 

We  were  now  in  what  was,  I  believe,  the  Sinkarata 
Valley.  It  stretched  many  miles  to  the  north,  and  ap- 
peared to  be  twenty  miles  wide  at  the  narrowest  point. 

383 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

No  sign  of  habitation  could  we  see.  All  day  long  we 
trailed  through  that  desolation  parallel  with  the  range 
until  we  came  to  a  cross-trail  leading  to  the  mountains. 
Here  the  men  examined  the  compass,  and  headed  for 
the  hills. 

It  was  sundown  ere  we  began  the  ascent,  and  ten 
o'clock  when  we  went  into  camp  half-way  to  the  sum- 
mit. The  air  was  chill,  and  we  thirsty  animals  were 
left  unguarded  while  the  men  built  a  fire.  I  smelt  snow 
on  the  mountain  peak,  so  did  my  comrades.  My  in- 
stinct told  me  that  in  a  moment  more  we  all  would  be 
picketed  for  the  night.  Our  mouths  were  parched;  but 
the  men  had  only  enough  water  in  their  canteens  for 
themselves. 

Self  preservation  is  the  first  law  of  nature,  I  reflected, 
and  to  think  was  to  act.  I  whispered  to  Damfino,  she 
passed  the  word  to  Coxey,  and  all  five  of  us  desperate 
donks  stole  away  unnoticed  in  the  darkness  and  followed 
our  noses  as  fast  as  our  weary  legs  could  take  us  in  the 
direction  of  the  peak.  The  air  was  so  rarified  I  could 
hear  the  least  sound,  and  the  slow-kindling  fire  flamed 
more  plainly  instead  of  more  dimly  as  we  widened  the 
breach  of  confidence  between  us  and  our  masters. 

"Rather  hard  on  the  fellows  for  us  to  run  off  with  their 
water,"  observed  Cheese,  stopping  for  breath. 

Sure  enough,  the  men  were  left  without  supplies, 
water  or  food.  Not  a  thing  had  been  unpacked.  I  loved 
the  Professor,  for  he  had  many  times  made  sacrifices  for 
me,  and  the  thought  made  me  stop  and  look  back.  The 
men  were  talking  and  gesticulating  excitedly.  Pres- 
ently one  started  up  the  trail,  and  the  other  down,  and 
were  soon  lost  to  view.  They  had  set  out  on  the  wrong 
scent.  With  some  misgivings  I  hastened  to  catch  up  with 
my  comrades. 

384 


CHAPTER  LII. 

BY  PYE  POD. 

Then,  looking  down  at  the  great  dog,  he  cried,  with  a  kind  of 
daft  glee: 

"Up  an'  waur  them  a',  Quharrie, 
Up  an'  waur  them  a',  man ; 
There's  no  a  Dutchman  i'  the  pack 
That's  ony  guid  ava,  man — Hooch !" 

— The  Raiders. 

Never  before  was  I  in  such  a  desperate  plight,  nor  was 
I  ever  more  frightened  than  now.  I  knew  not  where,  but 
believed  we  were  in  the  De  Satoyta  Mountains,  possibly 
on  the  trail  to  pass  between  Indian  Peak  and  Mt.  Atry. 
We  had  kindled  a  fire,  warmed  our  hands,  and  were  about 
to  unpack  when  Coonskin  exclaimed,  "For  God's  sake! 
Pod,  the  donks  are  gone !" 

Often  had  I  exercised  the  importance  of  Coonskin's 
picketing  the  beasts  before  leaving  them,  but  now  was  no 
time  to  scold.  I  directed  him  to  take  matches  and  exam- 
ine the  ascending  trail,  while  I  retraced  our  steps  and  did 
likewise.  Luckily  our  revolvers  were  in  our  belts,  and 
it  was  agreed  that  the  first  to  discover  traces  of  the  de- 
serters should  shoot  until  hearing  a  shot  in  answer.  Don 
went  with  Coonskin.  The  lighted  lantern  was  left  by  the 
unreliable  fire. 

It  was  difficult  in  the  wind  to  keep  a  match  lighted  long 
enough  to  be  of  value,  even  when  protecting  it  with  my 
hat,  as  I  knelt  on  the  hard  trail  or  on  the  softer  earth 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

in  the  sage,  and  strained  my  eyes  to  detect  the  shoe  prints 
of  my  runaways.  Every  few  steps  I  stopped  to  listen  for 
a  signal  shot,  and  deplored  our  dire  predicament  without 
food  or  water, 

I  had  about  concluded  that  the  only  resort  left  us  was 
an  all-night  tramp  over  the  pass,  perhaps  to  be  followed 
by  an  all-day  hunt  in  the  next  valley  for  a  habitation  and 
spring,  when  I  heard  the  welcome  signal  from  Coonskin. 
Presently  through  the  still  air  came  the  sound  of  Don's 
barking,  then  I  knew  the  fugitives  were  captured.  With 
a  lighter  heart  I  now  gathered  sage  preparatory  to  cook- 
ing, for  we  had  traveled  all  day  without  a  bite. 

Our  animals  that  night  were  securely  roped  both  to  the 
iron  tent-pins  and  the  tent,  so  that  they  could  not  slip 
away  during  the  night  without  taking  us  with  them. 

When  I  opened  my  eyes  next  morning,  Mac  stood  with 
his  head  inside  the  tent-door,  wistfully  eyeing  the  canteen 
by  my  pillow.  My  heart  was  touched,  but  I  thought, 
"Self-preservation  is  the  first  law,"  and  knew  that,  if 
turned  loose,  all  five  donkeys  would  have  the  asinine  in- 
stinct to  find  a  spring  in  time  to  save  themselves,  whereas 
a  man  might  fall  a  hundred  feet  from  a  spring  and  die  in 
ignorance  of  it. 

One  hour  after  sunrise  the  breakfast  dishes  had  been 
cleaned  with  a  rag,  in  the  absence  of  water,  and  the 
donkeys  were  standing  to  be  packed  for  the  dishearten- 
ing journey.  A  heap  of  ashes  smothered  some  fragile 
hot  coals  of  sage,  which,  from  all  appearances,  were  most 
inviting  to  any  donkey  to  roll  in.  While  cinching  the 
pack  on  Coxey,  I  observed  Mac  to  steal  to  the  ash  heap, 
look  at  it  wistfully  a  moment,  circle  round  it  two  or  three 
times,  and,  kneeling  down,  flop  over  on  his  side,  plumb 
in  the  middle  of  the  warm,  gray  ashes,  and  still  warmer 
coals.  It  was  his  custom  to  roll  over  several  times,  but 

386 


LOST   IN   NEVADA   DESERT. 

he  didn't  do  so  this  morning.  He  didn't  roll  at  all.  If 
he  had  fallen  on  a  huge  rubber  ball,  he  couldn't  have 
bounded  on  to  his  feet  with  more  alacrity. 

When  Mac  once  had  his  balance,  he  shook  himself  vig- 
orously and  brayed,  then  eyed  the  ash  heap  as  if  it  were 
a  nest  of  rattlesnakes.  The  air  smelled  of  singed  hair. 
The  donkey  reached  around  and  licked  his  side  a  moment, 
then  he  backed  away.  When  one  donkey  rolls  and  his 
fellows  do  not  follow  suit,  you  can  mark  it  as  most  sig- 
nificant. 

Two  hours  later  my  caravan  had  crossed  the  summit 
and  wrere  marching  down  the  western  slope  of  the  range. 

Nevada  is  the  home  of  the  wild  horse,  and  now  we  saw 
bunches  of  these  wary  creatures  grazing  in  the  distance, 
or  running  like  deer  for  the  hills  at  the  sight  of  my  outfit, 
although  five  and  more  miles  away. 

It  was  2  o'clock  when,  rounding  a  bend,  my  searching 
eye  discerned  across  the  valley,  close  to  the  base  of  the 
Augusta  range,  a  building  or  hay-stack.  My  heart  leaped 
with  joy.  Our  canteens  were  empty,  but  ere  long  we 
might  slake  our  thirst  at  a  ranch  well  and  give  our  faithful 
animals  a  treat. 

On  we  pressed  until,  passing  the  stack,  we  reached  a 
trail  leading  into  the  canyon.  A  few  moments  more,  and 
I  saw  a  wreath  of  smoke  ascending  not  far  up  the  pass. 
My  intuition  told  me  it  was  the  Maestratti  ranch.  And  it 
was. 

We  received  a  hearty  welcome.  Don,  poor  thing,  was 
so  weak  from  a  prolonged  siege  of  dysentery  that  he  could 
scarcely  creep  to  the  house;  but,  while  Coonskin  and  I 
unpacked  and  watered  the  donkeys,  my  faithful  dog  was 
fed  scalded  bread  and  milk  by  our  hostess,  who  ordered  a 
hearty  meal  for  us  men. 

Mr.  Maestratti  invited  us  to  a  bed  in  his  house,  but  I 

387 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

declined  it,  preferring  my  own  blankets;  and  now,  as  I 
strode  wearily  to  it,  I  called  affectionately  to  my  dog. 
Something  told  me  I  was  going  to  lose  him,  my  devoted 
friend  during  three  thousand  miles  and  many  months  of 
travel.  I  missed  the  loving  pressure  of  his  face  against 
mine,  his  warm  tongue  on  the  back  of  my  hand,  his  gay 
antics  and  playful  bark  when  in  his  happier  moods,  and 
anticipated  the  grief  I  should  soon  feel.  I  paused  at  the 
tent  door  and  whistled. 

"Don  has  stolen  away  to  die,"  said  Coonskin,  feelingly. 
"That's  just  what  dogs  do.  Let's  take  the  lantern  and  try 
and  find  him."  So  saying,  the  man  lighted  up,  and  we 
began  the  search. 

We  found  him.  He  was  lying  beside  a  stalk  of  sage  a 
hundred  feet  from  camp,  uncomplaining,  weak,  and 
breathing  irregularly.  The  flare  of  the  lantern  aroused 
him,  and  he  turned  his  bloodshot  eyes  to  mine,  as  much  as 
to  say,  "Leave  me,  kind  master,  I  shall  soon  be  out  of 
misery.  Do  not  mourn." 

Then  I  thought  of  his  identification  of  the  outlaws  at 
Thirty  Mile,  and  of  his  attack  on  the  cowboy  in  Nebraska 
who  had  playfully  lassoed  me  at  my  request.  I  remem- 
bered the  chill  nights  in  Iowa  barns  when  he  crept  over 
and  nestled  against  me  in  the  hay  that  the  heat  from  his 
great,  warm  body  might  keep  me  comfortable.  I  could 
not  restrain  my  tears.  My  best  friend  must  not  die  in 
the  brush  alone.  We  persuaded  him  to  return  with  us, 
and  made  him  a  comfortable  bed  in  a  corner  of  the  tent, 
patted  his  head,  and  retired.  But  soon  the  poor  fellow 
stole  out  into  the  frosty  night. 

It  was  not  the  rising  sun  or  a  donkey's  bray  that  awoke 
me,  but  a  woman  calling,  "Breakfast!"  I  intended  first 
before  answering  the  demands  of  my  stomach,  to  look  at 
my  dead  friend's  face,  but  to  my  surprise  and  delight  I 

388 


LOST   IN   NEVADA   DESERT. 

saw  the  dog  lying  in  the  sun,  his  head  up  and  his  tail 
wagging,  very  much  alive.  He  had  passed  the  crisis  of 
his  illness  during  the  night;  I  had  hopes  that  he  would 
soon  be  well. 

A  fortunate  circumstance  threw  us  in  the  company  of  a 
stranger  journeying  westward  in  a  wagon.  Like  every- 
body else,  he  showed  great  interest  in  my  travels,  and 
when  he  saw  the  condition  of  my  dog,  he  offered  to  con- 
vey him  over  the  mountains. 

We  arrived  at  the  summit  of  the  pass  by  ten  o'clock. 
There  we  rested  an  hour  and  fed  our  animals.  The  jour- 
ney down  the  western  slope,  while  apparently  as  trying  to 
the  donkeys  as  the  ascent  had  been,  was  more  inviting  to 
the  convalescing  dog,  and  he  on  the  way  surprised  us  by 
leaping  out  of  the  wagon  and  making  after  a  jackrabbit. 

At  two  o'clock  Don's  Good  Samaritan  drove  away  to  the 
south,  and  at  four  we  arrived  at  the  Donaldson  Ranch. 
Many  courtesies  were  extended  us  here  and  we  were  half 
persuaded  to  remain  over  night  with  these  hospitable  peo- 
ple. We  cooked  dinner  early,  gave  our  animals  a  liberal 
mess  of  barley,  filled  our  canteens,  packed  and  departed  at 
seven  with  the  well-wishes  of  all  and  a  fifty-pound  bag  of 
grain,  which  was  donated  to  Mac  A'Rony. 

Darkness  had  set  in.  Although  cautioned  about  two 
diverging  trails  which  we  would  reach  before  ascending 
the  mountain,  before  an  hour  had  passed  I  realized  we 
were  going  in  the  wrong  direction.  The  night  was  chill 
and  pitch  dark.  Quickly  changing  the  saddle  from  Mac 
to  my  fleet-footed  Skates,  I  rode  back  to  the  ranch.  No 
light  shone  through  the  windows  of  the  house,  and  I  knew 
that  every  one  had  retired.  I  could  see  no  expedient  left 
me  other  than  to  arouse  somebody  to  set  me  straight. 
Feeling  my  way  to  the  house,  I  shouted  with  all  my  might, 
and  soon  awoke  Mr.  Donaldson,  Jr.,  who  came  good- 

389 


ON  A  DONKEY'S   HURRICANE  DECK 

naturedly  to  my  relief,  saddled  a  horse,  and  insisted  on 
guiding  my  party  to  the  summit.  We  did  not  arrive  there 
until  midnight. 

The  noonday  saw  me  at  Horse  Creek,  and  midnight,  at 
Sand  Spring,  where  we  camped.  At  dawn,  a  sweeping 
glance  from  my  tent  door  revealed  the  most  desolate  of 
surroundings.  To  the  west  was  a  great  barren  desert, 
while  on  every  hand  were  massive  sand  dunes,  some  of 
them  towering  a  hundred  feet. 

A  breeze  had  sprung  up  during  the  night.  After  pur- 
chasing a  peck  of  pine  nuts  from  some  Piute  Indians  who 
had  camped  close  by  for  the  night,  and  were  now  starting 
out  on  the  home  trail,  I  tied  the  door  flaps  as  tightly  as 
possible  to  keep  out  the  drifting  sand,  then  went  back  to 
bed.  In  spite  of  my  precautions  the  sand  forced  an 
entrance,  coated  our  blankets  an  inch  thick,  and  scattered 
seeds  of  unkindness  in  our  nostrils,  ears  and  hair.  When 
I  awoke  and  saw  the  sides  of  the  tent  bended  inward  and 
half  way  up  the  walls  an  uneven  horizon,  where,  through 
the  canvas,  the  sand  and  sunshine  met,  I  roused  my 
companion  and  we  dressed.  In  a  few  moments  more 
we  might  have  been  buried  alive. 

How  we  were  to  cook  breakfast  was  a  serious  question. 
On  unfastening  the  door,  we  were  immediately  blinded 
with  sand  and  alkali  dust ;  and  it  was  only  with  the  great- 
est difficulty  that  I  could  find  the  ruins  of  the  old  restau- 
rant of  '49,  which  at  early  dawn  I  had  discovered  only 
two  hundred  feet  away.  The  floor  of  this  structure  had 
long  since  gone  to  provide  camp-fires  for  many  a  traveler, 
but  I  kicked  off  a  piece  of  siding.  Then  I  tried  to  find  the 
tent.  I  groped  and  stumbled  in  the  blinding  storm,  and 
only  by  calling  to  Coonskin  and  keeping  him  constantly 
answering  did  I  hold  to  my  bearings  and  succeed  in  reach- 
ing camp. 

390 


LOST   IN   NEVADA   DESERT. 

Saturating  a  few  sticks  with  coal  oil,  I  got  them  a-blaz- 
ing,  and  then  under  cover  of  our  water-pail  I  ventured  out 
of  the  tent  and  built  a  fire  sufficient  to  boil  coffee.  Our 
bread  when  buttered  looked  as  if  veneered  with  sand- 
paper. Coonskin,  gulping  down  a  half  cup  of  coffee, 
echoed  my  sentiments  when  he  remarked,  "It  takes  plenty 
of  grit  to  cross  these  plains." 

How  we  ever  packed  and  drove  our  half-crazed  animals 
out  of  that  sandy  hurricane  is  beyond  my  power  to  de- 
scribe. Blinded  and  choked  with  the  sand  themselves, 
they  could  scarcely  be  made  to  walk  to  the  well.  Having 
washed  out  their  throats,  Skates  was  persuaded  to  move, 
and  the  others  followed  reluctantly  out  of  range  of  the 
warring  elements. 

As  soon  as  we  were  clear  of  the  sand  belt,  we  stopped 
and  made  our  toilet.  All  day  long  while  crossing  that 
broad  desert  my  eyes  smarted  and  swelled,  and  they  did 
not  cease  paining  me  until  we  reached  the  first  habitation, 
where  I  procured  witch-hazel. 

Grimes'  ranch  at  seven  o'clock  saw  my  whole  party  in 
better  spirits.  I  declined  both  the  invitation  to  remain 
over  night  and  to  stop  for  supper.  Mr.  Grimes  telephoned 

to  Mr.  Len  A n,  of  Sinclair,  advising  him  that  I  was 

on  my  way  there  and  expected  to  arrive  by  nine.  It  was 
much  after  that  time,  however,  when  my  outfit  reached 
the  ranch.  When  still  three  miles  away  and  a  full  hour's 
march,  we  could  see  a  lantern  swinging,  and  when  we  got 
within  a  half  mile  the  sound  of  cheers  and  calls  of  wel- 
come greeted  our  ears.  We  answered  the  signals  with 
our  lantern  and  cheered  so  lustily  that  Mac  A'Rony 
paused  to  bray  and  led  the  donkey  quintette  in  a  heart- 
rending chorus. 

The  day's  thirty-mile  jaunt  thus  came  to  a  happy  end 
in  marked  contrast  with  its  beginning.  A  stalwart,  broad- 

39i 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

shouldered  man,  with  a  smiling  face  half  hidden  by  a 
beard  streaked  with  gray,  lifted  his  sombrero  as  he 
grasped  my  hand  and  shook  it  heartily. 

"Welcome,  welcome,  my  boy!    Now  make  yourself  at 
home,"  said  Len  A n. 


392 


I 


CHAPTER  LIII. 
BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

"A  torch  for  me,  let  wantons,  light  of  heart, 
Tickle  the  useless  rushes  with  their  heels ; 
For  I  am  proverb'd  with  a  grandsire  phrase. 
I'll  be  a  candle-holder,  and  look  on." 

— Romeo  and  Juliet. 

Old  Len  A n  was  a  jolly  old  soul,  and  a  jolly  old 

soul  was  he;  he  leaped  aboard  in  the  middle  of  my  back, 
and  hollared  to  me:    "Git!— Haw!— Gee!" 

We  donks  had  a  great  time  at  that  little  desert  metrop- 
olis. Len  owned  the  place,  that  is,  until  Pod's  outfit 
arrived,  then  Mac  A'Rony  owned  it.  Pardon  my  seem- 
ing vanity.  When  the  nabob  of  Sinclair  rode  me  to  the 
corral,  the  crowd  cheered  me  three  times  three,  "Hooray 
fer  Mac  A'Rony!" 

Besides  Len,  the  sturdy  pioneer  of  '49,  there  were  the 
foremen,  store-keeper,  blacksmith,  bronco  buster,  justice 
of  the  peace,  postmaster,  cowboys,  cooks,  and  numerous 
wives  and  daughters  and  cousins  and  aunts  all  willing 
and  anxious  to  make  our  party  comfortable.  Pod  was  at 
once  escorted  to  the  house  to  entertain  and  be  enter- 
tained by  the  ladies,  while  Coonskin  unpacked,  watered 
and  fed  us  donks,  like  a  good  fellow.  For  once  on  my 
long  journey,  I  had  my  fill. 

Finally  we  were  left  to  entertain  ourselves.  In  less 
than  a  half  hour  I  wanted  a  drink,  for  when  we  were  led 
to  the  well  I  refused  to  imbibe;  now  I  regretted  it. 
Donks  are  funny  creatures — regular  Chinese  puzzles. 

393 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

When  you  think  us  thirsty  we  ain't,  and  when  we  are  we 
must  help  ourselves,  or  go  dry. 

I  discovered  a  rope  dangling  from  a  projecting  arm  of 
a  high  gatepost,  nabbed  it,  and  pulled;  the  gate  did  the 
rest — opened.  So  I  walked  straightway  to  the  well 
trough  and  drank,  then  sauntered  to  the  house  to  learn 
how  Pod  was  faring.  S'  help  me,  Balaam!  there  he  sat 
with  Coonskin  at  a  long  table,  surrounded  by  men  and 
women,  all  talking  and  laughing  and  "joshing."  But  I 
noticed  the  travelers  kept  their  knives  and  forks  busy, 
and  wasted  no  time.  It  made  me  hungry  to  see  them 
eat,  so  I  returned  to  the  corral  to  finish  my  barley;  but 
when  I  got  there  I  found  it  already  finished.  No  use 
talking,  a  jackass  ain't  to  be  trusted,  nohow,  at  any  time. 
The  only  thing  left  for  me  to  do  was  to  go  foraging. 

Out  I  went,  nosing  around,  hoping  to  discover  a 
clothesline  with  some  shirts  and  socks  hanging  on  it,  or 
to  stumble  over  an  old  gunnysack  or  cast-off  garment. 
After  a  little,  I  observed  that  the  second  largest  house 
was  the  scene  of  considerable  activity,  and  I  sneaked  up 
and  peeped  in  the  window. 

The  ground  floor  was  one  vast  room,  presumably  the 
bunk  house  for  those  men  not  having  homes  of  their 
own.  At  one  extremity  a  ladder  reached  from  the  floor 
to  the  loft.  One  half  of  the  ceiling  was  boarded,  and  the 
other  half  looked  white,  as  if  it  were  made  of  canvas  or 
sheeting.  I  suppose  lumber  was  scarce  out  there  in  the 
desert.  Now,  a  donkey's  curiosity  ain't  to  be  sneezed  at. 
Fearing  lest  I  might  be  discovered  and  locked  up,  I  with- 
drew to  the  rear  to  another  window,  when,  suddenly,  I 
ran  into  a  heap  of  bedding  and  other  stuff.  I  could  ar- 
rive at  only  one  conclusion;  there  was  to  be  a  dance  in 
honor  of  Pye  Pod. 

I  had  devoured  half  of  a  hay  mattress  before  the  guests 

394 


A   FRIGHTFUL   GHOST   DANCE. 

began  to  arrive  for  the  dance.  They  came  from  the  vari- 
ous houses  and  cabins,  clad  in  their  finest,  and  among 
them  were  a  fiddler  and  a  mouth-organ  grinder,  who  at 
once  pitched  camp  in  one  corner  of  the  room  and  tuned 
up. 

To  open  the  dance,  the  Prof,  led  off  with  the  landlord's 
pretty  daughter  in  a  waltz,  Coonskin  sailed  around  close 
behind  with  her  black-eyed  companion,  and  soon  that 
bunk-house  was  as  busy  as  a  stock  exchange. 

After  several  dances  had  occurred,  the  men  excused 
themselves  and  came  out  to  the  table  beside  the  lug- 
gage, and  commenced  opening  several  bottles  of  the 
"real  article."  I  stood  stock  still  at  some  distance  in  the 
darkness,  but  within  smell  of  the  refreshments,  and  noted 
that  some  took  it  straight,  while  others  mixed  it  with 
sugar  and  water,  or  milk.  Coonskin  doted  on  punches 
of  all  kinds  (except  one  variety  reserved  for  obstreperous 
donks),  milk  punches,  rum  punches,  whiskey  punches, 
claret  punches,  etc.,  but  milk  punches  mostly,  and  so  this 
was  an  event  for  that  unbridled  youth.  He  gulped  down 
several  milk  punches  with  great  glee,  and  then  followed 
the  gang  into  the  house  and  went  at  the  dance  again  in 
earnest.  Later  on  the  men  came  out  for  more  refresh- 
ments. At  a  late  hour  that  "O  be  joyful  dance"  was 
brought  to  a  sudden  finish  by  a  frightful  incident,  or  ac- 
cident. 

It  seems  that  the  cowboys  had  to  rise  early  to  hunt  up 
stock  on  the  range,  and  therefore  went  up  the  ladder  to 
bed  before  the  dance  was  over.  As  Coonskin  had  a  cot 
with  them,  he  was  asked  to  retire  at  the  same  time,  so  as 
not  to  disturb  them.  But  that  boy  wanted  just  one  more 
dance — it  was  one  too  many. 

When  he  started  to  climb  the  ladder  I  held  my  breath ; 
once  he  slipped  through  the  rungs  and  only  caught  him- 

395 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

self  by  his  chin.  The  rest  of  the  dancers  kept  their  feet 
as  busy  as  ever,  and  the  fiddler  had  just  called  "Balance 
ter  corners,"  and  everybody  looked  to  be  in  good  spirits 
— the  best  of  spirits  was  in  the  men — when  all  at  once 
Coonskin  dropped  through  the  sheet  ceiling  overhead  on 
to  the  floor  in  their  midst.  I  was  glad  to  see  he  lit  on 
his  feet  like  a  cat,  instead  of  on  his  head,  as  one  would 
suppose  with  such  a  heavy  "load"  as  it  must  have  had. 
The  frightened,  embarrassed  fellow  chased  himself  in 
his  shirt  tail  round  and  round  that  room,  passing  three 
doors  at  every  lap,  yet  calling:  "Where's  th'  door?"  For 
a  moment  everybody  looked  paralyzed.  But  by  the  time 
the  first  of  them  regained  his  senses,  Coonskin  discov- 
ered a  door  and  scooted  out  into  the  darkness,  and  ran 
plumb  over  me.  Both  of  us  went  sprawling  on  the 
ground.  It  broke  up  the  dance  and  everybody  there. 
The  women  gathered  in  one  corner  and  laughed  in  their 
sleeves,  and  the  men  ran  out  to  look  for  what  had 
dropped  out  of  the  ceiling,  or  sky — they  seemed  sort  of 
dazed  like,  as  if  they  didn't  know.  When  I  got  my 
breath,  I  set  out  for  the  corral  and  brayed  with  laughter 
all  the  way. 

Finally,  I  heard  a  familiar  voice  whispering  to  me  in 
the  stable  door,  and  creeping  up  I  discovered  Coonskin 
shivering  with  a  sheepskin  about  his  shoulders. 

"They're  after  me,  ain't  they?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  I  reckon  they  are,"  I  replied.  "How  did  it  hap- 
pen?" 

"Well,  it  was  this  way,"  Coonskin  explained.  "When 
I  went  upstairs  to  bed,  I  found  the  men  had  blown  out 
the  candle  and  left  me  to  undress  in  the  dark-hic-ness. 
I  felt  round  till  I  found  my  cot,  and  undressed,  all  but 
my  shirt,  when  I  found  my  pillow  missing.  Says  I, 
'Where's  my  pillow?'  One  fellow  says:  There  it  is, 

396 


A   FRIGHTFUL   GHOST   DANCE. 

over  there;  wese  had  a  pillow  fight.'  So  I  started  to  go 
for  it.  I  hadn't  gone  far  before  I  sort  o'  felt  I  was  tread- 
ing-hic-on  velvet,  but  I  thought  it  was  the  punches  and 
kept  right  on,  till  I  struck  the  floor  downstairs.  That- 
hic-'s-all." 

Just  then  the  men  entered  the  stables  and  finding 
Coonskin  huddled  up  in  wool,  had  a  laugh,  and  brought 
him  clothes  to  put  on,  and  went  with  him  to  the  deserted 
dance  hall,  and  saw  him  safely  to  bed. 

The  more  I  thought  of  this  accident  the  more  sober  I 
got,  'until  I  thought  what  a  miracle  saved  Pod's  valet, 
and  wondered  what  he  would  have  done  without  him  out 
there  in  the  desert.  Then  I  tangled  up  my  legs  and 
went  to  sleep. 

Next  day  Coonskin  was  the  most  embarrassed  fellow 
that  ever  rode  a  donk.  The  good-natured  host  could 
hardly  persuade  him  to  breakfast.  Everybody  was  silent 
at  the  table,  Pod  said;  but  finally  Len  began  to  chuckle, 
and  remarked  that  he'd  been  West  nigh  on  to  fifty  year, 
but  last  night  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen  the 
ghost  dance.  Coonskin  said  it  was  no  ghost  dance,  just 
a  new  kind  of  breakdown. 

After  breakfast,  Len  gave  Pod  a  look  at  his  stock  and 
made  him  stock  up  with  all  necessary  provisions.  He 
wouldn't  take  a  cent  for  anything,  only  a  few  photo- 
graphs to  distribute  to  his  retainers.  He  even  said  he 
was  sorry  for  the  hard  times;  he  would  like  to  give  the 
Prof,  at  least  a  hundred  dollars.  I  believed  the  generous 
old  pioneer,  for  it  would  be  just  like  him. 

Pod  began  the  day  in  fine  spirits.  He  had  been  pleas- 
antly surprised  on  being  assigned  to  a  room  in  Len's 
house  to  notice  the  furnishings  arranged  with  distinct- 
ively feminine  taste;  so  he  was  not  surprised,  when  at 
the  breakfast  table  he  catechized  Miss  A n,  to  draw 

397 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

from  the  lips  of  the  blushing  maiden  the  confession  that 
she  had  resigned  her  boudoir  to  the  distinguished 
donkey-traveler.  Hence  Pod  had  a  delicious  sleep  in  the 
downiest  of  beds.  And,  as  a  token  of  his  appreciation 
for  the  courtesy,  he  presented  the  young  lady  with  a 
silver  scarf-pin  which  he  had  worn  across  the  desert. 

I  shared  some  of  my  master's  regrets  on  leaving.  The 
women  hugged  me  good-bye,  but  when  the  ranchman's 
daughter  put  her  arms  round  my  neck,  Pod  was  so  jeal- 
ous that  he  jammed  a  spur  in  my  side. 

After  a  time  we  got  started  on  the  trail.  Len  not  only 
declined  pay  for  Pod's  supplies,  but  gave  me  a  hundred 
pounds  of  barley.  This  my  comrades  offered  to  carry 
provided  I  would  divide  with  them. 

For  the  three  days  following  there  was  little  else  to  see 
besides  sand  and  sage  and  basaltic  rocks.  Ragtown  still 
stands,  a  squatty  cabin  and  dilapidated  shed  with  corral 
adjoining,  where  old  Ace  Kenyon  of  questionable  fame 
reaped  a  harvest  from  the  half-starved  emigrants  of  early 
days  by  extorting  from  them  rewards  for  recovering 
their  lost  cattle,  which  he  had  had  his  retainers  drive 
into  the  mountains  in  the  night.  Ace  would  place  all 
the  blame  on  the  innocent  shoulders  of  the  Indians.  He 
claimed  that  such  depredations  were  often  made  by  hos- 
tile tribes,  and  that  only  through  the  courage  of  his 
desperate  cowboys  could  he  possibly  retrieve  them. 
After  the  despondent  emigrants  had  tarried  several  days 
and  been  forced  to  pay  extravagant  prices  for  provisions, 
and  some  of  them  induced  to  throw  away  their  rags  for  a 
suit  of  new  clothes,  the  cattle  would  be  driven  into  camp. 
Then  the  elated  travelers  had  to  open  their  purses  again. 
Ragtown,  situated  as  it  was  at  the  extremity  of  the  Hum- 
boldt  Desert,  was  a  sort  of  overland  depot,  and  we  were 
told  that  thousands  of  emigrants  used  to  drift  in  that 

398 


A  FRIGHTFUL   GHOST  DANCE. 

direction  from  other  routes  when  water  had  given  out 
and  for  miles  the  trail  was  then  strewn  with  cast-off  rai- 
ment, abandoned  wagons,  sometimes  with  oxen  attached, 
and  the  skeletons  of  cattle  and  men  who  died  from 
thirst.  At  times  we  could  see  the  winding  line  of  cotton- 
woods  that  marked  the  tortuous  current  of  the  Carson  in 
the  distance,  and  again  the  river  would  flow  slowly  In- 
close at  hand.  Pod  spent  most  of  the  dull  hours  playing 
solitaire  on  Damfino's  broad  back,  riding  backwards. 

We  struck  camp  at  the  last  ranch  on  the  Carson  the 
morning  of  October  18,  and  tried  to  reach  Dayton  the 
same  night.  Everything  went  well  until  we  came  to  a 
point  where  three  trails  met.  Pod  had  been  cautioned  to 
take  the  best-beaten  one,  so,  the  night  being  dark,  Coon- 
skin  left  us  donks  in  Pod's  charge  and  ventured  to  ex- 
amine the  trails.  It  was  eleven  o'clock.  Not  a  thing 
had  we  had  to  eat  or  drink  all  day  except  a  small  meas- 
ure of  barley.  To  stand  waiting  for  that  slow  boy  to 
get  his  bearings  was  more  than  we  donks  could  bear,  and 
soon  Damfino  whispered  to  Cheese  and  me  to  slip  away 
from  the  outfit  and  follow  her  lead. 

The  suggestion  was  at  once  acted  upon.  Each  of  us 
took  a  different  course  to  start  with,  but  we  soon  caught 
up  with  Damfino,  who  led  us  a  good  pace  for  two  hours 
and  ran  us  all  into  Six  Mile  Canyon  about  one  a.  m. 
There  we  lay  down  with  saddle  and  packs  on,  and,  to 
our  surprise,  discovered  that  faithful  dog,  Don,  lying 
close  by,  on  guard.  It  was  not  the  most  comfortable 
night  I  had  ever  passed,  but  it  was  better  than  standing. 
When  Coonskin  found  us  in  the  afternoon  he  caused  me 
to  change  my  ideas  on  that  question,  but  on  reaching 
Dayton,  the  Prof,  was  so  glad  to  see  me  that  he  lavishly 
dined  us  all,  watered  us,  and  let  us  roll  to  our  heart's 
content.  So  all  scores  were  settled. 

399 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

BY  PYE  POD. 

It  means,  monsieur,  that  a  storm  is  raging  at  the  summit — a 
snow  storm — which  will  be  upon  us  ere  long.  And,  dame!  it  is 
dangerous ! — Tartarin  on  the  Alps. 

We  left  Dayton  at  two  o'clock.  Carson  City  lay  six 
miles  away,  close  to  the  Sierra  Nevadas,  whose  towering 
heights,  on  the  Nevada  side,  rise  abruptly  from  the  plain. 
That  afternoon's  journey  was  the  last  we  were  to  expe- 
rience through  the  monotonous  chaparral. 

When  we  trailed  into  Carson,  the  sun  had  gone  down 
behind  the  forest-covered  mountains,  leaving  me  a  little 
less  than  thirteen  days  in  which  to  reach  San  Francisco. 

The  leading  hotel  was  pointed  out  to  me,  and  a  cheer- 
ing crowd  followed  us  there  and  called  for  a  speech  from 
me.  While  unstrapping  our  traps  for  the  porter  to  take, 
we  men  answered  inquiries  about  the  trip,  then  con- 
ducted our  animals  to  a  stable,  to  be  cared  for. 

I  was  glad  to  note  that  they  were  generally  in  good 
condition,  although  Damfino's  shoulders  were  somewhat 
tender  from  the  rubbing  of  the  pack-saddle,  as  the  result 
of  her  running  away.  Dr.  Benton,  at  the  stable,  after 
dressing  her  shoulders,  showed  me  the  famous  watch 
bequeathed  to  him  by  Hank  Monk,  the  clever  stage- 
driver  of  early  days,  to  whom  it  was  presented  for  having 
driven  Horace  Greeley  over  the  pass  to  Placerville,  in 
time  to  keep  his  lecture  engagement. 

I  had  just  registered  at  the  hotel,  and  was  chatting 

400 


"Began  to  plow  Snow  toward  Placerville.' 


''The  Cattle  Passed  Us.' 


ACROSS    SIERRAS   IN    DEEP   SNOW. 

with  the  group  of  men  crowded  round  me,  when  a  gen- 
erous, good-natured  gentleman  edged  through  the  cor- 
don and  grasped  my  hand. 

"I'm  going  to  take  charge  of  you,"  he  said,  with  a 
comical  wink  of  the  eye;  "you  are  my  guest  while  in 
town." 

The  next  moment  I  found  myself  launched  in  an  off- 
hand lecture  on  my  travels.  And  I  should  have  talked 
myself  hoarse  had  not  my  host  led  me  out  to  his  car- 
riage. After  telling  the  landlord  to  make  Coonskin  com- 
fortable, I  asked  who  the  gentleman  was  who  had  taken 
me  in  custody. 

"Why,  he's  Sam  D s;  you've  heard  of  Sam,  of 

course — editor,  writer  and  humorist — famous  story- 
teller— the  biggest  'josher'  on  earth ."  But  that  was 

enough.  I  fled. 

Indeed,  Sam's  reputation  was  known  to  me  long  before 
I  arrived  on  his  stamping  ground.  I  leaped  into  the 
buggy,  and  we  drove  for  his  country  home. 

"Keep  yer  hand  on  yer  pocket-book!"  shouted  one 
of  my  host's  intimates;  whereupon  Sam  turned  to  me 
with  affected  seriousness  and  observed,  "Good  advice. 
But  I  took  the  precaution  to  leave  my  money  and  watch 
at  the  office.  I  heard  of  your  capture  for  donkey-steal- 
ing back  in  Iowa." 

On  the  drive  my  host  recalled  many  happenings  of 
the  golden  days  of  the  Comstock,  which  made  me  lose 
all  reckoning  of  the  present.  Soon  we  had  reached  his 
ranch.  When  I  met  his  family  I  was  ready  to  believe 
some  of  his  accounts  of  the  practical  jokes  he  claimed  to 
have  played  on  his  fellows.  I  was  somewhat  discon- 
certed when  he  introduced  me  to  his  wife  as  a  noted 
"road  agent" — an  old  friend  of  his  who  had  wavered 
from  the  path  of  rectitude — whom  he  desired  to  feed  and 

401 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

hide  from  the  sheriff's  posse,  hot  on  his  trail.  But  I  was 
amused  when  his  good  wife,  who  of  all  would  be  ex- 
pected to  know  him  best,  apparently  took  his  word  for 
granted,  and,  regarding  me  with  nervous  suspicion, 
started  to  get  me  a  quick  lunch.  But  Sam  delayed  her 
a  moment. 

"Dan  wants  to  entrust  this  $25,000  with  me  until  he 
has  eluded  the  posse,"  he  said  to  his  wife,  taking  my 
weighty  saddle-bags  and  passing  them  to  her.  "There  is 
no  fire  in  the  front-room  stove,  is  there?  Might  shove 
'em  in  there."  She  accepted  the  trust  so  seriously  that  I 
laughed  outright,  and  exploded  the  joke.  My  hostess 
chuckled  good-naturedly,  and  said  that  most  any  woman 
might  take  me  for  a  bandit.  I  did  look  disreputable. 

Adjoining  the  ranch  were  a  few  acres  owned  by  "Mrs. 
Langtry,"  and  sold  to  her  by  Sam,  so  he  said,  but  how 
he  made  the  deal  is  too  good  a  story  to  be  injured  by 
my  telling.  I  was  up  early  next  morning.  In  spite  of 
my  host's  urgent  invitation  to  remain  another  day,  I 
drove  to  town  with  Sam  after  breakfast.  There  I  was 
shown  several  places  of  interest. 

Dark  and  threatening  clouds  hung  over  the  moun- 
tains and  alarmed  me.  My  friend  cautioned  me  to  hasten 
across,  if  I  would  avoid  the  storm.  By  two  o'clock  my 
outfit  left  Carson  and  began  the  ascent  of  the  steep  trail 
over  the  pass  to  Glenbrook,  a  lumber  camp  on  the  shore 
of  Lake  Tahoe.  Dr.  Benton  advised  me  to  telephone 
him  from  Glenbrook,  if  it  snowed  so  hard  as  to  endanger 
us  before  crossing  the  second  summit,  in  which  case  he 
volunteered  to  dispatch  at  once  a  relief  expedition,  with 
horses  to  break  the  trail  and  render  me  a  safe  conduct 
beyond  the  snow  belt.  I  shall  always  remember  the 
veterinary's  thoughtfulness.  My  friend  Sam  must  have 
been  interested  in  the  plan. 

402 


ACROSS    SIERRAS   IN   DEEP   SNOW. 

As  higher  we  climbed  the  steep  ascent,  the  air  became 
more  damp  and  chilly,  and  the  heavy  clouds  looked  more 
ominous.  We  men  were  afoot,  for  my  donkeys  were 
burdened  enough.  Mac  A'Rony  and  Cheese  were  fa- 
vored, merely  carrying  the  saddles  and  guns,  for  Cheese 
seemed  to  be  quite  worn  out,  and  Mac,  while  sound  and 
strong,  was  the  one,  if  it  be  decreed  that  only  one  should 
survive,  I  wished  to  take  through.  The  donkeys  often 
stopped  for  breathing  spells,  and  not  until  we  neared 
the  summit  did  they  require  urging  to  make  the  fatiguing 
climb. 

By  this  time  we  were  over  our  ankles  in  snow.  The 
biting  wind  came  down  over  the  pass  in  aggressive 
sorties  and  volleyed  blasts  of  cutting  snow  dust  in  our 
faces,  nipping  our  ears  and  noses,  and  blinding  us. 
By  reason  of  the  fast-falling  flakes  and  the  darkness,  the 
donkeys  often  lost  the  trail,  and  the  snow  obscured  the 
rocks  over  which  we  all  continually  stumbled  and  slipped. 

At  length,  when  we  stood  on  the  summit  and  looked 
back  over  that  battle-ground,  I  think  all  of  us  took  cour- 
age for  the  final  conflict  awaiting  us  on  the  next  and 
higher  pass. 

We  arrived  at  Glenbrook  at  eight  o'clock  and  found 
cozy  quarters  for  all.  The  storm  having  driven  every- 
body indoors,  the  place  looked  coldly  uncordial  for  a 
time;  but  as  soon  as  its  warm-hearted  people  were  ap- 
prised of  my  arrival  they  hastened  to  welcome  me.  When 
provision  had  been  made  for  the  comfort  of  my  animals, 
I  returned  with  Coonskin  to  the  hotel,  where  a  hot  sup- 
per had  thoughtfully  been  provided  for  us.  And  there 
we  recounted  our  adventures,  which  evidently  afforded 
our  auditors  the  keenest  enjoyment. 

Morning  revealed  a  dreary  prospect.  The  snow  was 
a  foot  deep,  and  it  was  still  falling  thick  and  fast.  My 

403 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

friends  urged  me  to  tarry  until  the  storm  had  abated, 
but  I  set  out,  after  an  early  breakfast,  for  Myer's  Sta- 
tion, twenty  miles  away.  There  I  hoped  to  find  feed  for 
us  all,  and,  should  the  storm  be  over  by  that  time,  com- 
fortable shelter  for  the  night. 

The  trail  followed  the  shore  of  beautiful  Lake  Tahoe 
— never  more  severely  grand  and  picturesque  than  now 
— followed  it  many  miles  before  it  led  into  the  majestic, 
white-clad  forest.  The  snow  fell  incessantly,  while  the 
rays  of  the  sun,  peeping  through  its  cold  armor,  either 
melted  it  into  slush  or  softened  it  so  as  to  "ball  up"  the 
donkeys'  hoofs  and  render  their  tramp  more  difficult. 

When  we  reached  Myer's  Station  it  was  snowing 
harder  than  in  the  morning,  so  I  resolved  to  rest  an 
hour  and  to  cross  the  pass  that  night.  The  solitary 
tavern  first  came  into  view  through  the  dense  snow- 
screen,  not  a  hundred  feet  away.  It  was  four  o'clock. 
Then  a  barn  loomed  up  beyond  and  across  the  trail, 
and  I  felt  grateful.  I  had  great  confidence  in  Skates, 
Damfino  and  Coxey;  Coonskin  and  I  had  ridden  but  a 
little  that  day,  so  that,  if  Mac  A'Rony  and  Cheese  could 
fortify  themselves  with  plenty  of  grain,  I  had  hopes  of 
getting  all  five  over  the  summit. 

Alas!  my  hopes  were  soon  shattered.  There  was 
neither  grain  nor  hay  to  be  had.  The  landlord  explained 
that  he  didn't  keep  "no  cattle."  Even  the  pantry  was 
depleted,  but  my  host  would  find  a  bite  for  us  men,  and 
"boil"  us  some  tea,  which  would  have  to  suffice  until  the 
expected  supplies  arrived.  They  might  be  delayed  by 
the  storm  until  morning.  Meanwhile  we  shouldn't 
starve.  I  didn't  intend  my  animals  should  starve,  either, 
but  bought  several  loaves  of  bread  and  fed  it  to  them. 

"Don't  think  I  am  going  to  stay  here  over  night,"  I 
said  to  the  tavern-keeper. 

404 


ACROSS   SIERRAS   IN   DEEP   SNOW. 

"You  don't  mean  to  cross  the  summit  in  this  storm !" 

I  nodded.  At  that  moment  a  man  stumbled  in,  ac- 
companied by  a  frigid  gust  of  wind,  and,  walking  to  the 
stove,  stamped  the  snow  off  his  high  boots,  unwound 
a  tippet  from  his  neck,  and  slapped  his  ice-covered  hat 
against  his  limbs. 

"Whose  jackasses  be  them  outside?"  he  inquired 

"Mine,"  I  replied. 

"Where  ye  bound  with  them?" 

"Over  the  pass  to  Placerville." 

The  man  laughed,  then,  looking  sober,  inquired, 
"Where  yer  from,  may  I  ask?" 

"New  York,"  I  said,  nonchalantly. 

"Not  with  them  little  burros?" 

"With  one  of  them." 

" Je-ru-salem !  I  don't  know  but  ye  may  cross  with 
'em!"  he  exclaimed,  in  astonishment.  "But  I  doubt  it. 
Jest  fetched  down  my  four  horses — left  the  wagon  up 
to  the  hubs  in  snow  half-way  up  the  trail — snow  must 
be  three  foot  deep  on  the  summit.  You'll  leave  your 
carcasses  in  the  snow,  if  ye  try  it,  I'm  tellin'  ye." 

Said  the  proprietor,  "If  you  will  wait  here  till  to- 
morrow, there'll  be  five  hundred  cattle  cross  the  pass 
and  break  the  trail  for  you." 

"I  go  to-night,"  said  I,  "and  will  break  the  trail  for 
the  cattle." 

I  thanked  both  men  for  their  kind  caution,  but  said 
such  impediments  had  stared  me  in  the  face  ever  since 
leaving  New  York,  and  never  yet  one  of  them  proved 
to  be  an  obstacle.  As  we  moved  off,  the  men  stood  in 
the  hotel  door,  gaping  in  mute  wonderment  at  my  stub- 
born resolution. 

Darkness  gathered  ere  we  began  the  ascent  of  the 
mountain.  Slowly  the  donkeys  climbed  the  slippery 

405 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

trail,  Coonskin,  upon  my  advice,  walking  beside  Cheese 
and  watching  him  with  utmost  concern.  The  snow 
scudded  against  our  faces,  although  the  mountain  some- 
what shielded  us  from  the  biting  gale  we  had  faced  all 
day.  The  three  stronger  animals  carrying  the  packs 
walked  ahead,  while  close  behind  them  struggled  Cheese 
and  Mac,  supporting  our  saddles  and  lighter  traps,  we 
men  encouraging  them  the  while  with  kind  words  and 
allowing  them  a  few  moments'  rest  every  time  they 
stopped. 

Soon  I  feared  lest  Cheese  would  give  out.  At  length, 
when  about  one-third  the  summit  was  climbed,  he  stopped 
and  deliberately  lay  down.  I  knew  that  meant  his  aban- 
donment, then  and  there.  We  might  induce  him  to 
climb  a  little  further,  but  we  might  better  free  him  at 
once;  he  would  likely  find  his  way  back  to  the  station. 
So  we  took  off  his  saddle  and  bridle,  cinched  them  on 
Mac,  and,  saying  a  sad  farewell,  hid  our  faces  in  our 
sleeves,  and  soon  had  climbed  beyond  his  vision.  It 
was  no  time  to  indulge  in  sentiment.  Once  or  twice 
Mac,  Cheese's  oldest  comrade,  stopped  and  looked  be- 
hind, then  with  a  soft  bray  resumed  the  ascent;  and  from 
the  distance  at  once  came  Cheese's  response,  causing  my 
eyes  to  fill  with  tears.  No  two  human  beings  could  have 
shown  more  tender  feelings  at  parting  than  did  those  two 
heroic  little  donks. 

Finally  we  came  to  the  abandoned  wagon,  half  envel- 
oped in  whiteness.  I  had  no  idea  of  the  hour,  but  it 
must  have  been  eleven  o'clock  when  my  sturdy  leader, 
Skates,  began  to  stop  for  rest  at  every  twenty  paces. 

An  hour  later  we  could  make  only  ten  feet  headway 
with  every  undertaking.  I  was  afraid  another  donkey 
would  drop  at  any  moment.  Several  times  I  thought  we 
had  reached  the  summit,  when  a  turn  of  the  Z  trail 

406 


ACROSS    SIERRAS   IN    DEEP   SNOW. 

showed  a  clear  space,  with  Skates  far  in  the  lead,  plough- 
ing and  dragging  her  burden  through  two  feet  of  snow. 
Suddenly,  when  we  had  all  but  reached  the  summit,  as 
we  after  learned,  Damfino  fell  with  a  groan.  She  was  so 
strong  and  hardy,  I  had  not  anticipated  her  giving  out. 
Coonskin  thought  she  had  slipped  and  broken  a  leg.  We 
took  off  part  of  her  pack,  and  at  length  succeeded  in 
getting  her  on  to  her  feet;  but  not  far  beyond  she  again 
fell,  when,  realizing  it  was  from  fatigue,  we  left  her,  with 
all  the  supplies  on.  We  had  no  way  to  carry  them,  and 
I  still  had  hopes  of  her  resting  out  and  trailing  over 
after  us. 

It  was  now  a  question  of  life  and  death.  Could  I 
but  get  Mac  A'Rony  through,  even  by  leaving  all  else 
behind,  I  should  do  so  and  fight  to  the  bitter  end.  Mac 
was  certainly  a  wonder.  After  thirty-eight  hundred 
miles  of  travel,  during  a  period  of  three  hundred  and 
thirty-odd  days,  he  was  chipper  and  nabbed  at  me  mis- 
chievously as  I  kindly  twisted  his  tail. 

Eureka!  At  last  we  stood  on  the  summit  of  that 
high  Arctic  pass  of  the  snow-bound  Sierras!  Man  and 
beast  were  ensconced  in  snow  and  ice,  and  my  ears  and 
face  and  hands  and  feet  were  numb ;  but  I  was  too  happy 
to  feel  any  suffering.  Could  Cheese  and  Damfino  have 
been  with  us  then,  I  should  have  been  jubilant. 

The  battle  was  won.  I  could  now  see  myself,  in  my 
mind's  eye,  in  company  with  Mac  in  Golden  Gate  Park. 
gazing  out  on  the  balmy  Pacific.  After  a  quarter  hour's 
rest,  we  resumed  the  journey  through  the  two  and  a 
half  feet  of  snow,  until,  after  several  resting  spells,  we 
began  gradually  to  descend.  The  air  at  once  felt  milder; 
the  snow  had  ceased  falling;  as  if  crushed  with  defeat,  the 
elements  had  retreated. 

It  must  have  been  two  in  the  morning  when  Coon- 

407 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

skin,  who  was  in  advance  beside  Skates  to  check  her 
impetuosity,  shouted,  "Helloa,  Pod,  I  see  a  house!"  I 
threw  my  hat  in  the  air  with  delight.  We  had  expected 
to  have  to  wade  through  snow  until  daylight.  Were 
we  all  to  find  a  refuge  in  that  half-buried  cabin? 


CHAPTER  LV. 
BY  MAC  A'RONY. 

How  he  trots  along  on  his  mule !  I  declare  the  beast's  ears  are 
not  so  long  as  his  master's.— The  Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame. 

The  supreme  moment  of  my  life  had  "arrove."  Must 
have  come  on  Skates.  I  had  crossed  the  broad  continent 
at  last — all  but  a  little  toboggan-slide  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  miles,  more  or  less,  and  that  would  be  easy  sail- 
ing. I  felt  boastful  now.  When  Pod  wasn't  occupied 
in  prodding  me  over  the  pass  he  was  quoting  "Hannibal 
Crossing  the  Alps"  and  other  heroic  adventurers,  imag- 
ining his  little  exploit  of  the  same  class.  Prof.,  old  boy, 
just  bear  in  mind  that  hobo  Hannibal  was  not  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  have  five  gullible  jackasses  to  help  him. 

The  storm  had  abated.  As  I  stood  waist-deep  in  snow 
while  the  men-folks  were  trying  to  waken  the  sleepers  of 
an  uninhabited  shanty,  I  looked  back  where  we  donks  sang 
"One  More  Mountain  to  Cross"  for  the  last  time,  and  I 
gave  three  brays  with  a  gusto. 

Standing  in  snow  or  water  taxes  my  patience.  Coxey 
brayed  to  the  men  to  "get  a  move  on,"  but  Skates  and  I 
amused  ourselves  by  sucking  icicles  hanging  from  our 
bangs.  Pod's  courageous  valet  received  first  orders.  He 
rode  an  avalanche  bareback  down  the  mountain  and  went 
through  the  door  without  knocking  until  he  hit  the  other 
side  of  the  shanty. 

"Don't  shoot,  for  heaven's  sake,  folks ;"  he  yelled.  No 
answer.  "Beg  thousand  pardons,  friends,  but  couldn't 

409 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

stop,"  he  added.  No  answer.  Then  he  picked  himself  up 
and  called.  Ain't  nobody  livin'  here  ?  Speak  up,  I  won't 
hurt  you."  No  answer.  The  next  thing  that  boy  did  was 
to  find  the  lantern  he  had  lost  in  the  snow  slide,  and  ex- 
plore the  place. 

"The  cabin's  empty,"  he  called  presently. 

"Any  stove  and  fuel?"  Pod  asked. 

"Yep,"  answered  Coon  skin,  "and  a  hay  tick,  and-waow- 
w-w-w!!! — ! — ! — ! — ! — spook!  Scat  you! — and  a  gol 
blasted  cat,"'  he  added.  "Folks  must've  left  just  before 
the  storm."  Then  to  the  dog  he  called,  "Here,  Don, 
sick'em — cats !"  and  Don  sicked. 

My  elated  master  next  ordered  Skates  to  slide  down 
that  chute  to  the  cabin,  and  she  shooted.  He  hinted  that 
Coxey  and  I  would  follow,  but  I  wasn"t  so  sure.  Judg- 
ing from  Coonskin's  experiment,  it  looked  too  swift  for 
my  blood.  But  when  I  witnessed  Skates  safely  descend 
and  heard  Coxey's  whisper,  "Come  on,  Mac,  show  your 
nerve,"  I  was  bound  to  stay  with  it  and  follow  suit. 

We  donks  no  sooner  reached  the  door  than  Pod  began 
to  unpack  us.  It  was  no  go.  Knots  and  buckles,  every- 
thing was  frozen  stiff ;  my  saddle  felt  glued  to  my  back. 

"We  must  fire  up,  and  thaw  them  out,"  said  Pod,  and 
he  led  us  in  doors.  Coonskin  converted  some  shelves  into 
kindling,  and  soon  the  little  stove  was  roaring  like  a  coke 
oven.  When  we  began  to  thaw,  one  by  one  the  ropes  and 
straps  were  unhitched,  or  cut,  until  we  were  all  relieved 
of  our  burdens — and  part  of  our  avoirdupois. 

Although  the  men  had  tramped  almost  all  the  way  from 
Carson  in  order  to  spare  us,  our  wrenching  and  twisting 
in  climbing  the  slippery  summits  had  loosened  our  sad- 
dles, which  rubbed  into  our  shoulders  until  we  were 
badly  galled.  Our  proud  flesh  had  frozen  to  the  icy 
blankets,  and  when  Pod,  while  near  the  stove  saw  our  con- 

410 


ALL   DOWN   A   TOBOGGAN    SLIDE. 

ditions  great  tears  melted  in  his  eyes,  and  he  rubbed  my 
frosted  nose,  I  suppose  expecting  me  to  purr.  We  got 
thawed  out  by  three  in  the  morning. 

That  small  apartment  depicted  a  busy  scene.  We  donks 
were  so  cramped  that  we  couldn't  turn  if  we  had  tried. 
While  Coonskin  dried  the  bedding,  the  Prof  found  in  the 
!uggage  a  box  of  tar,  and  gave  us  a  good  plastering. 
Then  he  put  us  in  the  other  room, — it  was  a  two-room 
house, — and  fed  us  the  hay  tick,  and  a  wooden  soap  box 
for  dessert,  and  bade  us  good-night. 

I  heard  Coonskin  mention  something  about  supper,  but 
Pod  told  him  all  the  grub  was  cached  in  the  snow  over  the 
summit  and  that  Damfino  carried  the  keys;  there  was, 
however,  a  possible  chance  of  getting  a  bite  later  if  he 
would  go  back  for  the  supplies.  Soon  after  I  heard  both 
men  snoring. 

As  I  recall  the  circumstance,  I  don't  see  how  we  three 
donks  stood  it,  cramped  up  in  that  small  room,  eight  long 
hours  before  the  men  got  up.  First  we  ate  the  hay  tick ; 
the  hay  went  fast  enough,  but  it  took  time  to  chew  the  tick. 
Then  we  gnawed  soap  box  until  dawn.  The  latter  was 
savory,  but  rather  tough,  and  had  to  be  eaten  slowly  on 
account  of  the  bones — nails,  Pod  called  them — which 
would  get  into  our  teeth.  Coxey  happened  to  swallow 
one,  and  said  he  wouldn't  lie  down  for  a  week  for  fear 
of  puncturing  himself.  Every  time  one  of  us  gnawed  on 
the  box  Don  barked,  taking  it  to  be  mice.  He  lay  under 
Coxey  with  one  eye  open,  ready  to  vacate  at  a  second's 
warning,  for  that  donk  pretended  he  was  going  to  lie 
down  every  moment. 

We  breathed  the  air  of  that  cell  ten  times  over,  and  had 
begun  on  the  eleventh  course  when  the  door  opened. 
What  a  magnificent  pair  of  spectacles  was  open  to  our 
eyes !  The  mountains  on  both  sides  of  the  canyon  looked 

411 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

like  great  billows  of  a  frozen  sea,  while  the  fir  trees  stick- 
ing out  of  the  snow  resembled  the  spars  of  sunken  wrecks 
with  their  torn  sails  frozen  to  the  yardarms. 

Coonskin  was  up  first.  While  dressing  he  happened  to 
glance  out  of  the  window  and  his  tell-tale  exclamation 
caused  Pod  to  leap  out  of  bed. 

"Well!  In  the  name  of  Balaam,  if  there  ain't  Damfino!" 
he  laughed. 

"She's  a  nervy  dame,"  observed  the  youth  with  satis- 
faction. "She  knows  the  other  donks  are  here,  all  right." 

Curiosity  led  me  to  stick  my  head  out  of  the  door,  and 
there,  knee-deep  in  snow,  stood  the  old  girl,  patiently 
waiting  for  an  invite  to  our  house  party.  Skates  had  to 
be  taken  up  to  pilot  down  the  half-starved,  half-frozen, 
timid  refugee.  Damfino  slipped  on  the  way  but  collected 
herself,  and  the  "girls"  whispered  something  to  each 
other,  which  I  could  not  catch,  and  laughed.  I  suppose 
it  was  a  joke,  so  I  got  off  an  old  one  to  Coxey,  and  he 
brayed  with  merriment.  Then  I  told  it  to  Pod,  and  he 
gave  it  to  Coonskin,  who  snorted  like  a  colt  over  a  horse 
chestnut. 

As  soon  as  Damfino  was  unloaded  the  men  got  break- 
fast. The  dishes  washed  and  our  galls  redressed  with 
tar  and  cotton  wool,  our  shoulders  were  padded  for  the 
saddles,  and  we  were  packed  for  the  journey.  Two 
o'clock  swung  around  before  we  got  up  that  toboggan- 
slide.  Once  there,  we  stopped  for  wind,  then  began  to 
plow  snow  toward  Placerville. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day,  but  the  glare  of  the  sun  on  the 
snow  made  us  shed  tears.  Not  a  sound  jarred  the  air,  ex- 
cept the  swish-swash  of  our  pedals  hewing  away  the  snow, 
or  an  occasional  asinine  sneeze,  or  canine  cough,  the 
result  of  a  night's  exposure.  At  the  steep  and  narrow 
turn  where  the  stage  driver  nearly  spilled  Horace  Greeley 

412 


ALL   DOWN   A   TOBOGGAN    SLIDE. 

trying  to  take  him  through  on  pony-express  time,  I  be- 
came interested,  and  the  spot  where  Sawlog  Johnson  was 
crushed  to  death  by  a  giant  tree  falling  on  his  shadow 
riveted  my  attention  for  some  time.  I  thought  it  a  good 
place  to  rest ;  the  trees  were  bent  by  the  heavy  snow  and 
ice,  and  I  knew  lightning  never  struck  twice  in  the  same 
spot. 

We  reached  Hart's  shingle  camp  long  after  dark.  Pod 
and  I  were  cordially  received  and  entertained.  When 
about  to  resume  travel  next  morning  the  drove  of  cattle 
which  we  were  urged  to  wait  for  passed  us.  They  had 
crossed  the  summit  in  quick  time,  of  course,  after  we 
donks  had  broken  the  trail. 

Now  only  small  patches  of  snow  dotted  the  roadside, 
and  we  had  a  muddy  trail  down  to  the  Bridge  house. 
The  keeper  gave  Pod  a  round  reception,  and  charged  him 
an  all-round  sum.  We  left  early  next  morning. 

The  scenery  on  that  mountain  trail  was  a  thing  to  out- 
last a  donkey's  memory.  One  sheer  cliff  rising  a  thousand 
feet  marks  the  site  of  a  bold  exploit.  It  is  said  that  once 
upon  a  time  Snowshoe  Thompson,  while  out  hunting 
above  this  cliff,  was  chased  by  a  grizzly,  and  only  escaped 
by  leaping  off  the  precipice  and  striking  the  frozen  river 
on  his  snow-shoes,  the  momentum  taking  him  down  to 
Sacramento,  seventy  miles  away.  On  that  cliff  was  after- 
wards found  a  grizzly  of  1,220  pounds  dead  weight  with  a 
hunting  knife  in  his  heart.  It  was  the  coroner's  verdict 
that  the  bear  was  so  astonished  at  the  fearless  hunter's 
brave  act  that  he  committed  suicide  with  the  knife  the 
hunter  dropped  in  his  hurry. 

Although  it  was  near  to  November,  the  foliage  of  the 
trees  was  barely  colored.  The  climate  of  California 
charmed  me.  We  were  making  fast  time  down  grade,  in, 

413 


ON  A  DONKEY'S   HURRICANE  DECK 

spite  of  our  jaded  condition,  and  we  did  not  tarry  for 
lunch.  When  Placerville  hove  in  sight  I  was  a  most 
tickled  donk.  Just  one  minute  after  dark  we  ambled  into 
town,  and  were  escorted  to  the  famous  spot  where  Horace 
Greeley  first  stepped  on  California  soil. 


414 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

BY   PYE   POD. 

Who  can  tell  a  man  from  manners? 

Who  can  tell  him  by  his  close  ? 
Beggars  often  smoke  Havanners; 

Nabobs  wear  a  bottle-nose. 

— Dog-eared  Doggerels. 

Placerville  greeted  us  royally.  It  was  once  one  of  the 
largest  cities  in  California,  and  in  those  lawless  days  was 
called  Hangtown.  After  describing  my  journey  in  my 
happiest  vein,  the  thoughtful  sheriff  passed  his  hat  and 
presented  me  with  about  nine  dollars.  Then  amid  hearty 
cheers  for  Mac  A'Rony,  we  were  escorted  to  a  hotel. 

That  evening  Coonskin  and  I  were  feted  by  the  young 
"bloods"  of  the  town. 

The  following  morning  a  jolly  party  drove  me  to  Co- 
loma,  where  I  saw  the  statue  of  Marshall,  and  old  Sut- 
ter's  Mill,  where  he  discovered  gold.  It  was  a  lovely 
autumn  day.  The  leaves  were  turning,  but  the  verdure 
of  the  Pacific  slope  is  more  subdued  in  its  colorings  than 
that  of  the  East,  where  the  change  of  seasons  embellishes 
it  with  scarlet.  My  genial  companions  were  refreshing 
to  me  after  being  so  long  a  recluse,  but,  returning  to 
Placerville,  I  dined  and  wasted  no  time  in  starting  for 
Sacramento.  Coonskin  had  shipped  to  San  Francisco 
most  of  our  luggage,  to  relieve  our  animals,  and  at  two 
p.  m.  my  little  caravan  drifted  toward  the  Sacramento 
Valley. 

The  next  stop  was  Folsom,  the  seat  of  a  state  prison, 

4i5 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

twenty  miles  away,  where  we  arrived  at  midnight.  All 
the  inhabitants  seemed  to  be  asleep.  We  were  noisily  de- 
bating about  which  street  to  follow,  when  a  man  called 
from  a  chamber  window,  and  directed  us  to  the  best 
hotel,  saying  he  would  call  on  me  in  the  morning.  He 
introduced  himself  after  breakfast  as  an  officer  of  the 
Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals,  and 
asked  to  see  my  donkeys.  I  escorted  him  to  the  stable, 
but  I  feared  trouble.  I  knew  three  of  my  donkeys  were 
galled  since  leaving  Carson,  and  was  so  solicitous  that  I 
sent  Coonskin  to  have  the  blankets  and  saddles  cinched 
on  them  for  the  start,  hoping  the  officer  would  be  guided 
by  the  wisdom  of  the  proverb,  "What  the  eye  cannot  see 
the  heart  cannot  grieve  for." 

You  may  imagine  how  disconcerted  I  was  when  the 
officer  uncinched  the  saddle  on  Skates,  the  one  most 
galled,  and  lifted  the  blanket. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say,  Mr.  Pod,"  said  he  calmly,  "I  must 
arrest  you  for  cruelty  to  animals." 

I  protested,  and  explained  that  my  valet  and  I  had 
been  as  tender  and  solicitous  for  our  animals'  health  and 
comfort  as  a  father  could  have  been  for  a  child;  that  we 
had  tramped  across  both  passes  from  Carson;  and  that 
the  galls  resulted  from  unavoidable  loosening  of  the 
cinches  and  the  shifting  of  the  saddles.  We  had  even 
changed  the  packs  from  one  animal  to  another  at  fre- 
quent intervals  to  distribute  equally  the  general  burden. 
If  he  doubted  my  word  we  would  show  him  our  feet. 

The  sight  of  our  sore  and  bleeding  feet  caused  the 
"humane"  officer  to  blush  at  his  threat,  and  as  a  sympa- 
thetic murmur  ran  through  the  crowd  he  said:  "Pro- 
fessor, I  must  say,  you  men  are  exonerated.  You  are 
as  bad  off  as  your  poor  donkeys,  but  I  cannot  let  you 
take  this  animal  out  of  town  in  that  condition." 

416 


"Across   on 
the  exclusive 
Solano." 


"1 

pointed 

toward  the 

goal." 


The 

approach  in 
'Frisco    was 
choked  with 
a  rabble." 


'FRISCO  AT  LAST,  WE  WIN! 

I  was  grieved  to  part  with  Skates,  who  had  piloted  us 
across  the  summits  in  that  heavy  storm,  but  the  law  must 
be  obeyed.  I  sold  the  donkey  to  a  son  of  the  hotel 
landlord,  who  promised  to  cherish  her  as  a  pet.  We 
were  allowed  to  proceed  with  the  rest  on  condition  that 
neither  of  us  would  ride.  Bancroft  LibHHTJJ 

It  was  a  long  day's  journey  to  the  capital,  upwards  of 
thirty  miles,  and  we  got  under  way  by  nine  o'clock. 
Coonskin  and  I  could  scarcely  walk,  and  as  we  drove 
our  three  jaded  burros  down  the  main  street  we  were 
cheered  on  every  hand.  After  reaching  the  open  coun- 
try Mac  A'Rony,  observing  me  screw  my  face  and  hear- 
ing me  sigh  from  pain,  seemed  to  say:  "I'm  sorry,  old 
man,  but  when  we  are  out  of  sight  of  those  meddling 
officers,  get  in  the  saddle  and  I  will  carry  you  a  way." 
The  dear  fellow;  he  could  read  me  like  a  book. 

We  threaded  a  lovely  country.  The  orchards  were 
denuded  of  fruit  and  verdure,  but  the  vineyards  were 
laden  with  their  white  and  pink  and  purple  harvest,  and 
the  waving  alfalfa  sent  us  whiffs  from  their  fragrant 
censers  all  along  the  trail.  We  stopped  at  the  great 
Sonora  Vineyard  to  rest  and  enjoy  some  Muscat  grapes; 
and  shortly  after  lunch  hour,  we  rested  again  at  a  weigh- 
ing station,  where  I  received  a  telephone  message  in- 
quiring when  we  might  be  expected  at  the  capital. 

Handkerchiefs  and  hats  were  waving  from  the  balco- 
nies of  the  Golden  Eagle  Hotel,  Sacramento,  and  news- 
boys were  crying  the  arrival  of  Pod  and  Mac  A'Rony 
as  we  approached.  While  I  had  tramped  most  all  of 
the  way  from  Folsom,  I  rode  into  the  city,  and  after  a 
brief  address  at  the  hotel,  sent  my  animals  to  the 
stable. 

The  landlord  welcomed  me  cordially,  and  I  was  imme- 
diately assailed  by  reporters.  The  next  morning  a  news- 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

paper  man  took  me  driving  about  the  city.  I  was  pre- 
sented to  several  state  officials,  and  shown  through  the 
handsomest  state  capitol  grounds  in  the  Union.  Half 
the  day  was  devoted  to  business  duties;  in  the  evening  I 
delivered  a  lecture;  and  several  times  I  was  asked  to  es- 
cort a  party  of  ladies  to  the  stable  to  see  the  donkey  that 
enjoyed  the  unrivaled  distinction  of  having  made  a  4,000 
mile  journey  from  the  Hudson  to  the  Sacramento. 

Next  day  we  started  for  'Frisco  at  eight  a.  m.  Just 
five  days  were  left  us  in  which  to  travel  the  ninety  miles  to 
our  goal.  There  were  many  who  advised  me  to  go  by 
way  of  Stockton,  a  longer  journey  by  forty  miles,  cau- 
tioning me  that  my  donkeys  would  not  be  allowed  to 
cross  in  the  "Solano"  ferry  at  Benicia,  which  was  re- 
served strictly  for  people  and  passenger  trains. 

But  we  started  on  the  shorter  route,  Mac  and  I  lead- 
ing the  way  out  of  the  beautiful  city  and  along  the  banks 
of  the  Sacramento  River,  through  the  toolies  and  hop 
fields  towards  Davisville. 

When  yet  a  mile  to  town,  Damfino  while  not  even 
carrying  a  saddle,  staggered  and  showed  symptoms  of 
the  colic.  The  noble  beast  had  done  her  duty  on  the 
hard  trip  from  Iowa,  and  being  the  biggest  and  strongest, 
she  had  borne  the  heaviest  burden.  She  had  earned  her 
freedom.  I  decided  to  leave  her  by  the  roadside.  Some- 
body would  soon  find  her,  and  take  good  care  of  her; 
which  I  afterwards  learned  to  be  the  case. 

Next  morning  Coonskin  and  I  set  out  early  with  the 
remaining  two  donkeys,  Mac  A'Rony  and  Coxey,  for 
Suisun,  some  twenty-five  miles  away,  we  walking  two- 
thirds  of  the  distance  for  the  sake  of  our  animals,  al- 
though augmenting  our  own  sufferings,  for  our  feet  still 
pained  us.  My  dog,  Don,  on  the  other  hand,  was  full  of 
health  and  abrim  with  mirth. 

418 


'FRISCO   AT  LAST,   WE  WIN! 

Suisun  welcomed  us  at  sunset.  That  evening  a  happy 
idea  came  to  mind;  I  would  send  Coonskin  to  Oakland 
by  train.  Considerable  business  must  be  done  there 
which  he  could  attend  to,  besides,  he  might  arrange  for 
hotel  and  stable  accommodations,  and  engage  a  black- 
smith to  put  on  Mac  A'Rony  the  silver  shoes  which 
should  be  at  the  express  office  in  that  city.  There  was 
left  me  three  days  in  which  to  travel  fifty  miles,  but  now 
I  could  ride  alternately  the  two  donks  and  not  overtax 
either. 

I  was  received  with  usual  courtesies  at  Benicia,  and 
the  hotel  swarmed  with  townspeople  and  guests  to  hear 
about  my  trip. 

At  nine  next  morning  a  sympathetic  crowd  accom- 
panied me  to  the  ferry,  fully  expecting  to  see  my  party 
refused  passage. 

"You  cannot  board  the  Solano  with  your  burros,"  said 
the  officer,  positively;  "the  boat  is  strictly  reserved  for 
passenger  trains  and  people." 

I  did  not  show  surprise,  but  calmly  explained  my  over- 
land trip,  and  emphasized  the  importance  of  my  reaching 
'Frisco  with  Mac  by  noon  of  November  3. 

"Will  you  send  a  message  to  the  Southern  Pacific's 
head  office  at  my  expense?"  I  asked.  The  officer  said 
he  would,  and  sent  it.  The  answer  soon  came  directing 
the  ferrymaster  to  pass  Pod  and  party  across  on  the  ex- 
clusive Solano  and  extend  us  every  courtesy. 

The  officer  seemed  much  astonished  at  receiving  the 
message.  His  obsequiousness  made  Mac  A'Rony  bray. 
When  the  expected  train  arrived  and  the  Solano  left  the 
dock  and  the  passengers  realized  that  they  were  the  first 
to  cross  in  the  company  of  four-legged  donkeys,  they 
treated  to  cigars  and  fruit  and  paid  Mac  A'Rony  ex- 
ceptional homage. 

419 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

Landing  at  Porte  Costa,  I  was  directed  on  the  short- 
est route  to  Oakland,  and  amid  cheers  and  hearty  well- 
wishes  started  to  climb  the  trail  over  the  hills  which 
border  the  river  from  that  point  to  some  distance  south. 

It  was  after  dark  when,  descending  the  bluffs  and  trail- 
ing a  few  miles  along  the  river,  I  rode  into  the  little  vil- 
lage of  San  Pablo.  The  streets  were  quite  deserted,  and 
the  few  men  I  talked  with  answered  my  inquiries  in 
Spanish.  Finally,  I  entered  a  humble  tavern  whose  Irish 
proprietor  directed  me  on  the  right  road.  Only  a  few 
miles  now  lay  between  me  and  Oakland,  and  although 
tired  and  hungry  I  did  not  stop  for  supper,  but  pushed 
onward  over  the  level  road,  now  and  then  walking  a  half 
mile  to  rest  my  tired  yet  uncomplaining  mounts  or  to 
ease  my  joints,  until  I  rode  into  the  city  at  midnight. 
Coonskin  met  me  on  the  road  and  cheered  me  with  the 
information  that  all  the  duties  assigned  to  him  were  at- 
tended to,  then  piloted  me  to  the  hotel  and  the  animals  to 
the  stable.  After  getting  something  to  eat  I  retired. 

Coonskin  had  interviewed  the  reporters,  and  the  morn- 
ing press  heralded  my  advent  in  long  and  sensational 
notices.  When  I  went  to  the  stable  everybody  seemed 
to  identify  me  with  the  traveler  pictured  in  the  papers. 
I  inwardly  chuckled  when  I  thought  of  my  dilapidated 
garb  and  general  unkempt  appearance.  I  was  still  lame 
and  felt  that  I  had  walked  around  the  world  in  eighty 
days. 

My  poor  little  donks  were  lying  down  when  I  went  to 
their  stalls.  The  twenty-eight-mile  tramp  of  the  preced- 
ing day  had  told  on  them.  Mac  rose  to  his  feet  and  stuck 
up  his  nose  to  be  rubbed. 

"You  have  almost  earned  your  pension,  too,"  I  said. 
"But  now  come  to  the  smith's  to  have  your  new  shoes 
put  on.  They  are  of  pure  silver,  and  befitting  one  that 

420 


'FRISCO  AT  LAST,  WE  WIN! 

has  made  such  a  record  in  the  field  of  travel."  The  little 
fellow  smiled,  and  playfully  pulled  the  handkerchief  out 
of  my  pocket  while  I  adjusted  his  bridle.  And  when  he 
walked  out  of  the  shop  "in"  his  pretty  new  shoes  he 
looked  as  proud  as  any  lad  in  his  first  pair  of  pants. 

Coonskin  and  I  lunched  early.  The  customary  crowd 
followed  my  party  to  the  ferry,  and  some  crossed  with  us 
on  the  boat  to  'Frisco.  How  happy  I  felt  while  drifting 
over  San  Francisco  Bay !  I  pointed  toward  the  goal,  and 
to  a  bystander,  said:  "During  my  340  days'  journey,  I 
have  had  only  a  vague  vision  of  the  city  before  me,  but 
the  day  I  started  from  New  York  I  felt  as  confident  of 
reaching  it  as  I  do  now."  Several  passengers  laughed 
incredulously;  nevertheless  I  spoke  the  truth. 

The  ferry  approach  in  'Frisco  was  choked  with  a 
rabble.  Upon  landing  Coonskin  and  I  rode  our  little 
long-eared  animals  up  Market  street  to  a  prominent 
hotel,  a  cheering  throng  of  men  and  street  gamins  tag- 
ging behind  or  following  by  the  walk  on  both  sides  of 
the  street.  And  when  at  two  o'clock  the  glass  doors  to 
its  great  white  court  were  thrown  open  to  us,  I  was  just 
twenty-two  hours  ahead  of  schedule  time. 

The  several  rows  of  balconies  were  crowded  with  hotel 
guests  and  friends  waving  handkerchiefs  and  hats,  and 
cheer  upon  cheer  rose  to  the  crystal  roof  and  descended 
to  our  ears.  The  court  was  packed.  I  called  a  porter. 

"Bring  a  rug  for  my  silver-shod  donkey  to  stand  on," 
I  ordered.  The  darkey  looked  mystified,  and  had  the 
insolence  to  question  my  strange  request,  but  he  soon 
brought  the  rug.  The  reporters  aided  me  to  urge  back 
the  crowd  to  give  the  spectators  in  the  balconies  a  view 
of  Mac's  silver-shod  hoofs,  all  four  of  which  Coonskin 
lifted,  one  after  the  other,  for  them  to  see. 

"Three  cheers  for  Mac  A'Rony!"  some  one  shouted 

421 


ON  A  DONKEY'S  HURRICANE  DECK 

from  the  balcony.  It  was  the  signal  for  a  general  out- 
burst of  applause;  and  Mac,  Coxey  and  Don,  each,  re- 
spectively, brayed  or  bayed  his  deafening  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  popular  ovation. 

Then  I  briefly  reviewed  my  long  and  tempestuous  voy- 
age of  4,096  miles  on  a  donkey's  hurricane  deck  in  340 
days  and  two  hours.  Frequently  I  was  interrupted  with 
laughter  or  cheers,  as  I  cited  some  ludicrous  experience, 
and  the  unbridled  throng,  many  of  them  mere  street 
loungers,  laughed  and  yelled  and  whistled  until,  finally, 
the  incensed  manager  was  attracted  to  the  Court.  The 
police  were  unable  to  cope  with  the  crowd,  so  I  was  re- 
quested to  remove  the  cause  of  the  disturbance.  Indeed 
I  was  grateful  for  the  excuse  to  get  away  from  that  wild 
scene.  Coonskin  took  the  animals  to  the  stable,  and  I, 
after  registering,  immediately  sought  a  more  exclusive 
hotel,  to  whose  landlord  I  bore  a  letter  of  introduction 
from  a  distinguished  gentleman  friend. 

I  must  have  looked  as  if  I  had  crossed  Central  Africa 
and  had  fought  fifty  tribes  of  cannibals.  My  clothes,  hat 
and  leggings  were  in  shreds,  my  sleeves  were  fastened  to 
my  coat  with  bale-wire,  and  blue  cotton  hung  in  view. 

"Do  you  take  tramps  at  this  hotel?"  I  inquired  of  the 
astonished  clerk  of  the  Occidental,  as  I  leaned  on  the  of- 
fice counter.  He  stopped  sorting  letters  and  eyed  me  with 
curiosity,  but  before  he  recovered  his  reason,  the  junior 
proprietor  appeared,  and  said:  "Sometimes,"  then  with 
a  knowing  smile  extended  his  hand  in  greeting. 

"I  believe  this  is  Mr.  Pod,"  he  said.  I  nodded  and 
handed  him  the  letter.  When  he  had  read  it  the  affable 
young  gentleman  extended  me  the  freedom  of  the  hotel 
and  three  days  later  got  up  a  coaching  party  in  my  honor. 

I  was  soon  a  transformed  man.  After  a  shave  and 
hair-cut  and  bath,  I  dressed  and  appeared  at  the  office  at- 

422 


'FRISCO  AT  LAST,  WE  WIN! 

tired  as  a  gentleman  on  parade,  and  was  hardly  recog- 
nized by  the  clerk  to  be  the  same  man. 

Coonskin,  too,  I  had  fitted  out  completely;  besides  I 
gave  him  a  sum  of  money  and  an  honorable  discharge. 
In  a  few  days  he  secured  a  situation  in  a  hotel,  but  later 
set  out  for  a  mining  camp  in  the  Sierras  to  dig  for  gold. 

I  presented  one  donkey  to  Golden  Gate  Park,  and  sold 
the  other,  but  I  retained  possession  of  my  dog.  Frequent- 
ly afterward  I  called  at  the  park  to  see  dear  old  faithful 
Mac  A'Rony. 

In  conclusion,  let  me  state  that  I  had  eleven  donkeys 
on  my  overland  trip,  never  more  than  five  at  one  time. 
I  wore  out  ten  pairs  of  boots,  and  put  one  hundred  and 
forty-eight  shoes  on  my  animals  at  an  average  cost  of 
ninety  cents  each,  and  arrived  at  my  journey's  end  with 
several  hundred  dollars  in  pocket  and  weighing  thirty- 
three  pounds  more  than  I  did  the  day  I  set  out  from  New 
York  with  ninety-nine  cents. 

"I  am  as  free  as  Nature  first  made  man, 
Ere  the  base  laws  of  servitude  began, 
When  wild  in  the  woods  the  noble  savage  ran." 


423 


EPILOGUE. 

This  tale  will  be  hard  to  swallow,  because  truth  is  stronger 
than  fiction. 

The  trip  was  more  healthful  for  Pod  than  for  me. 

There  are  four  distinct  distances  across  the  American  conti- 
nent, viz : 

Three  thousand  miles  as  the  crow  flies. 

Three  thousand  five  hundred  as  the  train  steams. 

Four  thousand  by  overland  trail  for  a  man. 

A  million  miles  as  a  donkey  goes. 

The  most  monotonous  constant  companion  for  a  long  journey 
is  a  man. 

There  are  more  people  who  descend  to  the  level  of  a  jackass 
than  donkeys  that  rise  to  the  plane  of  man. 

If  Pye  Pod  had  been  killed  or  drowned,  or  had  died  on  the 
journey  he  would  have  been  condemned  and  ridiculed  as  a  fool 
by  the  same  people  who  now  applaud  and  envy  him  for  his 
achievement. 

If  I  had  died  on  the  first  day  of  the  trip  the  world  would  have 

called  me  lucky;  now  that  I  lived  through  it,  I'm  d d  lucky! 

M.  A'R. 


SI! 

{u:t 


lilt 

iipll 

lifiliifl! 
llliljf 


